Bloodlines
by starzstruck-1
Summary: Woohoo, another new chapter!
1. Prologue

A/N: Ok, here it is! Finally, the reviewed and revised version of Bloodlines, the Beginning! Take careful note; although the difference in plot between this and the original prologue won't mess with the main plot of the story, I would recommend reading it anyway. The situations are a lot different, and the way i've explained things in this version makes the entire scenario much more realistic. Read on, let me know what you think!

Oh, btw, I dont own Harry Potter, or anythign affiliated with Harry Potter. The Griswalds are entirely my creation.

The icy rain came in the form of a torrential downpour, bleakly reflecting the foul moods of the collective residents of Manchester, England. Ominous clouds had overtaken the cheerful blue sky some time earlier that morning... about the time that Frank Granger and his eight months pregnant wife, Guenevere, rushed to Manchester Royal Eye Hospital. They had been on their way to the theatre (her favorite ballet was showing, and despite her condition, she couldn't bear to miss it) when her water broke. The entire ride to the hospital was spent in a near blind panic; Guen was whispering about the time_ (too soon, it was too soon, something was so obviously wrong)_, and Frank was weaving in and out of noontime traffic at a maniacal pace, muttering under his breath all the while (_bloody surprises, horrid traffic, how are we supposed to get anywhere in this mess?)._

The dentists (for that's what they were, partners in a dentist firm that had little dentist dreams and prayed for little dentist children) rushed into the hospital, calling loudly for a nurse; for someone, anyone, with a wheelchair. A red-haired woman in a starched white apron approached them with one: "Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. ...?" "Granger. Frank Granger, and this is Guen." As the young blonde woman was being wheeled down the hall, her distraught husband clung tightly to her hand, firing question after question at the polite nurse. He finally ended with a desperate plea; "Please, is my wife going to be alright?"

The blonde woman in the wheelchair had remained silent, but her blue eyes were bright with tears, and she looked back and forth between the nurse and her husband, waiting for answers. Quietly, the nurse responded, "You're wife is going to be fine, Frank. How far along did you say she was?"

"Eight months," he paused for a moment, realizing how the nurse had worded the question in the past tense, and sweat broke out once again on his already damp brow. "Why? Is something wrong with the baby? Please, is everything alright?"

The redhead sighed a little, and offered a neutral statement, meant to do nothing but hold the expectant parents' hopes together a little while longer. "We wont know if anything is wrong until a doctor can look at her."

Forty-five minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Granger sat in a bland green and white observation room, awaiting the return of their doctor, Dr. Gordon. They didn't need to wait much longer; a knock sounded on the metal door, and in came the professional. His fat, bald head glistened under the florescent lights, and he mopped his sweaty brow with a dingy rag before removing his grimy, wire-rimmed bifocal, and smudging them further with that same rag. The couple waited with bated breath for the doctor to speak, but when no words came, Frank looked down at the floor in defeat.

Finally, the doctor gathered his voice. "I'm going to be frank with you, Mr. Granger..."

"You can't be... I'm Frank," the expectant father grumbled, before meeting the greasy, pug-like man's eyes. "What's up, Doc?"

O.o

Gillian and Ferdinand Griswald appeared with a bang in a deserted alley behind the Muggle hospital. Wordlessly, the sopping brunette gripped her husband's hand and glanced up and down the narrow cobblestone path. "This place stinks of _Muggles_, Freddie." She spat the word as though it defiled her mouth.

"I know, my sweet, I know, but the Dark Lord's instructions were clear, and you know what would happen if we were to attempt this at a real hospital. The Ministry would be all over us before you could say Fizzing Whizbees." Ferdinand squeezed his gorgeous wife's hand firmly and reassuringly, taking one last look at their clothing. His tattered robes were several inches too short, and hers were much too tight, but they could not afford to buy new ones, and no self-respecting pureblood family would accept charity. He shuddered at the thought. Every Knut to their name had been spent in service to the Dark Lord, and it was for a worthy cause. He smiled, remembering that after tonight, they would never need or want for anything again. The amount of money they were to be rewarded for this small service to their master would boggle the mind of a lesser wizard; after tonight, they would finally regain the wealth and prestige they once held, and be once more accepted into their rightful place in the Dark Lord's Court.

He listened as his wife sighed wistfully, and placed their joined hands on her protruding stomach. Nine months ago, he and his beautiful wife had married at their Lord's insistence. Ferdinand couldn't believe his luck and his Master's graciousness; he'd been in love with Gillian for years. He'd been unable to admit as much to her while serving his lord almost continuously, but almost nine months ago, he and his wife had celebrated their blessed union under the watchful eyes of the Lord himself. That union had produced a child, a blessing in both the happy family's eyes, and the eyes of the powerful Riddle. There had been uprisings of late, presumably 'faithful' Death Eaters rising up against their master in hopes of ending his reign of supremacy. The Dark Lord scoffed at those attempts, of course, but was finding more and more difficult ways for his followers to prove their loyalty.

One night it had happened. Gillian was 7 months along, her rounded belly and perpetual glow making her more beautiful in her husband's eyes than she ever had been. It was then that the Master had called an important meeting of the Inner Circle. Ferdinand had fallen to his knees in horror when Lord Voldemort called for the ritual sacrifice of his firstborn.

_"My Lord, I beg of you!" Griswald cried piteously from his knees in the center of the cloaked circle, paying no heed to his dear friend Lucius's fervently whispered pleas for him to be silent. He prostrated himself at the handsome man's feet, kissing the toes of his shoes and grasping at the hem of his robes as a hissing Bellatrix kicked away his seeking hands. "Please, my Lord, I have been a loyal servant for years! Surely there is something else you could ask of me, something that would mean even more to you than this pitiful pittance…" But the Dark Lord had merely laughed, and ordered him to his feet. "You will give me your firstborn," Tom Riddle had spat beneath his hood as he turned away, "or you will give me your life."_

Seeing now the soul-crushing pain on his wife's face, for a moment, he began to regret his decision. Shaking himself from the grasp of heavy memories and guilt, Freddie whipped out his wand and pointed it at the rusty metal door leading into the Muggle establishment. "Alohomora." The portal swung open, and silently, the wizard stepped through, followed immediately and obediently by his pureblood wife. Another whispered spell, "Direct me," and the wand spun wildly on his palm, finally pointing them in the appropriate direction; down a long, sparsely lit hall to a stairwell that led down to the basement.

"Freddie, are you sure this is the way?" Gill asked, her voice quavering as they entered the door revealed to them. She glanced around the room, noticing the filth and garbage that littered almost every available surface. Her husband muttered a quick "Lumos," and the room was bathed in a cold blue light. She gasped as she saw the bed in the center of the room, and the masked figures that flanked it. "Freddie, I'm not so sure we should go through with this. I don't..." she swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat before continuing. "I don't know if I can give the baby up."

"You will give it up!" He growled. She flinched away from the open hostility he showed, and when he realized what he said, he calmed immediately. He gathered his lovely Gillian into his arms, and held her close. "Our Master promised that there would be more children," he purred, trying to calm the now sobbing woman. "Buck up. Griswalds don't cry," She stopped obediently, but the wet trails on her cheeks refused to dry. "This will not be the last sacrifice we make for His favor, but neither will it be the last beautiful child we will make together," he murmured as he kissed the tears from her trembling lips.

"But why, Freddie? Why must we be the only family to make such a sacrifice? What about the Malfoy's!" She protested as quietly as she could, aware of the stares of the other wizards in the room. "Just six months ago, Narcissa gave birth to a baby boy, and they are not asked to destroy their chance at a family!"

"Gill," her husband admonished quietly but firmly. "You know as well as I what Master has in store for young Draco. And you know equally well that the ritual can only be completed while the child is still in the womb."

"You are right, husband," she conceded in defeat, allowing him to guide her over to the hospital mattress. She tried hard not to think of what was to take place. Her beautiful child, the gorgeous life that had grown inside her womb for the past 9 months would be unceremoniously ripped from her body, wrapped in ritual cloth died with the blood of a unicorn foal, and buried facedown underneath a wild cedar. Her honeyed eyes once again drifted over the mediwizards in the surgical masks, and she sent one last wordless plea to whoever was listening that her baby be spared.

"Mr. and Mrs. Griswald, I presume?" asked the wizard furthest to the left. He stepped forward, and cast his own wandlight on the room. Freddie nodded, and the wizard on the right spoke.

"All things in the name of the Dark Lord,"

"For whom the sun bleeds and the stars scream. Forever shall his name strike fear into the hearts of his enemies," concluded the couple in unison. Around the room, sleeves were pulled up to reveal His mark, skull and snake. Satisfied, two 'orderlies' stepped forward, one on each side of the pregnant woman. They guided her to a reclining position, and roughly yanked up the hem of her robes, paying no mind to her whimpers of dread.

The head mediwizard raised his wand, and looked once more to Fred. "You're sure?"

"As sure as Merlin's beard."

"Fifty thousand Galleons is a lot of money, Mr. Griswald, but is your child's life worth it?" The wizard's twisted smile sent shivers down his spine, but he shook them off, determined to pull through.

"It's not about the money," Ferdinand heard himself say. It was as though he were listening from the end of a long tunnel, but he couldn't seem to make himself focus. "Besides, I think anything is worth it," he sneered, "In the service of our Lord."

The wizard nodded, and raised his wand higher. Instantly, the swollen woman on the table began to scream.

O.o

The blonde woman screamed on the mattress, panting with excursion as she single-handedly recreated the miracle of birth. I say single-handedly, because her other hand was wrapped tightly around her husband's wrist and was cutting off all blood flow. Occasionally, when the pain and screaming subsided, she would turn to face her husband, alternately cursing him and pledging her undying love. "Francis Angelo Granger, I rue the day I ever laid eyes on you!" or, "Frank Granger, if I survive this, I'll make love to you every night!"

The nurses laughed a bit at this, but Frank continued helping his beloved wife with her breathing exercises.

"Mrs. Granger, I need you to push on the count of three, okay? One... two... three... PUSH!"

O.o

"Done." The mediwizard spoke calmly, and handed the shivering newborn to an orderly, who immediately bathed it, and wrapped it in a towel.

"Could I hold it? Please, Freddie..." His wife whispered weakly. The strain on her magic had been great during the operation, and she would remain weak for about three days, but still, she couldn't help but ask, "Couldn't I please hold my baby?" Freddie just swallowed the lump in his throat, not bearing to look at his beloved wife. What neither of them knew was that the ritual had gone terribly wrong; one of the medi-wizards' had a hand in another pile of galleons. He'd been promised 100,000 galleons if he would deliver a healthy baby to a very prestigious wizarding family, who was otherwise unable to produce more children. The Parkinsons would also feel the sharp pains of disappointment. The mediwizard in question stowed the child away 'safely' in an empty crib in the Muggle nursery, not bothering to enter information on the infant, as he would return for her in a few hours, before returning to his fellows in the grungy basement.

Ferdinand helped his sniffling wife off the table, and graciously accepted the bag of Galleons, shrinking it down to the size of a bean, and putting it into a pocket in his too-small robes. Without another word, the pureblooded couple was gone, and the mediwizard smiled evilly at his accomplices. They spent the rest of the afternoon sipping firewhiskey, and reminiscing. They had just vanished their empty glasses when a knock sounded at the door.

"Were you expecting anyone else?" The orderlies shook their heads, and the wizard in charge slowly opened the door. It had only opened a fraction of an inch when ten people came barreling into the room, wands drawn and at the ready.

"Magical Law Enforcement!" shouted one witch. She glanced around at the various people in the room, who seemed to be following unspoken orders. They gathered the four Dark wizards while the officer spoke again.

"You are under arrest for suspicious activities, including the illegal purchase and sale of newborn children." This speech went on for quite a while, and the wizards were taken into custody.

O.o

_Eleven hours of hard labor wasted_, thought the nurse as she stared down at the lifeless body in her hands. The umbilical cord was wound tightly around the newborn's neck, and the entire stillborn body held a bluish tint. The new parents reached expectantly toward the woman, eyes begging for the child they knew should be making some sound, but was silent. The nurse, Ms. Knit, sighed, and refused the couple their corpse, under the pretense of cleanliness.

"Hospital procedure, I'm afraid," she clucked, snipping the cord, and bundling the rapidly cooling body into a terrycloth towel. "Needs to be cleaned before I give 'er over." She whisked down the hall to the nursery, where she laid the small child on a metal table for ... disposal. Sighing once again, she shook her head, preparing to return to the room to give the parents the terrible news, when a small cry sounded from the far corner of the room.

Confused, she checked all the charts and determined that no other child was supposed to be up here, but she was intrigued. She walked over to the basinet, and found the most gorgeous child. The baby girl had dark wispy hair and bright, intelligent brown eyes. Her fists were tightly shut, and she cried as loud as her tiny little lungs would allow. Ms. Knit checked the charts again, and when she was satisfied that no information on the child could be found, scooped her up, and took her down the hall.

"Here you go, Guen. Your lovely baby girl." she handed the baby over to the new mother, who cooed softly, and cuddled the small child to her chest. Mr. Granger leaned over the baby girl as well, and reverently caressed her tiny cheek with his large, calloused finger.

"We're going to call you..." Guen looked at her husband for confirmation, and smiled when he nodded. He was too enamored at the sight before him to attempt to argue. "After my own grandmother... Hermione Jane Granger."

O.o

Outside, a petite young woman with bushy brown hair screamed in agony, holding tightly to her husband, who did nothing to console her. Her screams, and the loud bang that inevitably accompanied Apparation, were swallowed by the sound of the relentless rain, beating down on the unforgiving stone.


	2. Chapter One

_**CHAPTER ONE**_

_Sixteen years later_

"Oh, come _off_ it, Ronald!"

"But, I could have sworn I just saw you-"

"Never you mind what you thought you saw."

"_Talking _to Malfoy! Honestly, Hermione, I can't believe-"

"We were having an intelligent conversation based on a mutual homework assignment, and I can't possibly understand-"

"Mutual? How can you have _anything_ mutual with the Amazing Ferret Boy? I don't know-"

"_What's gotten into you_?" They shouted simultaneously. The two livid students faced off, faces red from lack of oxygen. Hermione had come to the Great Hall with the fleeting hope that she might find a reprieve from confusing and unwanted thoughts; instead, she had come face to face with her redheaded best friend, who was absolutely furious at something he couldn't comprehend. It wasn't her fault that he brought up the same questions she'd been asking herself for the last five minutes, nor was it her fault that he'd been spying on her in the first place, and she was enraged that her every waking moment seemed to need to be accounted for.

She watched him with more than a hint of rage in her eyes as he panted. Ron Weasley of the present was definitely a far cry from the gangly, uncoordinated first year that had called her a snobby know-it-all. He had filled out, the rest of his body finally catching up to his height. He stood 6' if he stood an inch, and his fine red hair was grown to 'just the right length'; down to about the lobes of his ears, and was just a little shaggy. His chest had transformed from the skinny torso of a pre-pubescent to the broad chest of a man. That chest was firm and defined from spending all but two weeks of summer training with Harry for this year's Quidditch season.

Speaking of Harry...

Hermione forfeited the staring contest (causing Ron to cackle as he sat in his place at the table and dug into his dinner) and swung her gaze across the Hall, searching for the untidy shock of raven hair that so defined her other best friend. There. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived To Make The Girls Swoon, walked toward her and Ron, smiling triumphantly. _He must have finally asked Ginny out_, she mused, smiling and waving to him. He'd been building up to the do the deed for the past week, alternately assured that she couldn't turn him down and so insecure that Hermione had to play ego-pumper for an hour. Not that his ego needed the boost. He, too, had filled out just as nicely as Ron. He was a few inches shorter, granted, than his red-haired counterpart, but just as good-looking.

Yes, her boys had grown up... and so had she. She had grown a few inches, but at 5'2", she still looked short when placed beside her friends' towering frames. Her fluffy brown hair had mellowed some (not as much as she would have liked, but some), reaching down just below her shoulder blades. Her figure had matured for the most part; dark school-robes hid her curves nicely (including that bit of tummy pudge that she just couldn't get rid of) but snuggled in just the right places to leave things open to the imagination. Not that anyone was imagining, though. No, Hermione had forever been placed in the realm of 'know-it-all', and of course wasn't deserving of the looks her friends bestowed on some of the other girls in their year. Not that she was complaining... but it would be nice to be noticed.

Sighing, she sat daintily at her place and began scooping perfect portions of food onto her silver dinner plate, joining in the idle chat as Harry finally took his place at their table. She didn't feel the eyes that regarded her with the same intensity as she had been using just moments before.

"So, dialmo wel wivm sishe?" Ron spoke around a mouthful of biscuit. Harry and Hermione raised eyebrows in unison, and looked to one another for translation. Ron's ears reddened, but he swallowed, and tried again. "So, did all go well with my sister?"

Harry's eyes sparkled as he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, we have a date for next Hogsmeade weekend." In a sudden bout of embarrassment, he lowered his eyes to the table, avoiding eye contact with the older Weasley. "Are you sure you're ok with this?"

The redhead chased a kernel of corn around his plate with his fork, also avoiding eye contact. "Sure. I mean, who would I rather have date my sister than my best friend?" Triumphantly, he closed his mouth around the offending vegetable, and pushed his plate towards the center of the table. "Oh, and by the way, did I mention?" His eyes locked onto Harry's abruptly, and Harry had no choice but to hold his friends gaze. Hermione laughed at the display of male posturing. "If there's any funny business, I will personally castrate you!"

"Oh, Ronald, stop it. You know that if there is any funny business, I'm perfectly capable of castrating him myself!" Came a jovial voice from behind them. Hermione smiled widely as Virginia Weasley seated herself next to Harry.

"Ginny! So nice of you to join us!" Hermione chided easily. Ginny smiled warmly at her best friend, all the while nudging the brunette over to make room. Hermione scooted with no arguments, happy to have one of her few girlfriends join the conversation, and turned back to a sulking Ron. "It's no use, you know, trying to protect her," she stated clearly, her lips twisted in a serious frown. Ron opened his mouth to argue, but stopped abruptly when the frown broke into a brilliant smile. "She knows all of your secrets, and if she found out, you would be sorely regretting your involvement!" Harry choked back a laugh when the tips of his best mate's ears turned beet red, blinking innocently when that same friend turned a scathing glare his way.

"Well, it's true!" Ginny laughed, fully agreeing with Hermione's point. "Ronald

Weasley, I would just _love_ to see you try to sneak something past me. I know _all_ your secrets," she smirked devilishly, causing the girl next to her to break out into laughter. Ron's face reddened even more, and he relentlessly poked his single remaining potato with the fork in his hand.

"Well, _excuse me_ for looking out for my younger sister," he snorted. "Or even my _friends_," he continued, looking pointedly at Hermione, who turned quickly away.

Harry, normally the more observant of the other three Gryffindors, didn't notice the strange exchange between his friends… but Ginny Weasley did. After growing up with five older siblings (and brothers none the less), she had learned how to calculate when something was being hidden. Unfortunately, before she could ask, Neville Longbottom made his way to the table, informing them of their upcoming quiz in Charms, and in the excitement (in Hermione's case) and dread (in everyone else's), Ginny's very important question was lost in the ether.


	3. Chapter Two

_**LAST TIME:**_

_"Well, excuse me for looking out for my younger sister," he snorted. "Or even my friends," Ron continued, looking pointedly at Hermione, who turned quickly away. _

_Harry, normally the more observant of the other three Gryffindors, didn't notice the strange exchange between his friends… but Ginny Weasley did. After growing up with five older siblings (and brothers none the less), she had learned how to calculate when something was being hidden. Unfortunately, before she could ask, Neville Longbottom made his way to the table, informing them of their upcoming quiz in Charms, and in the excitement (in Hermione's case) and dread (in everyone else's), Ginny's very important question was lost in the ether._

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

_2 Hours Earlier_

His steady pace echoed through the dungeon as his polished shoes clacked against the cold stone. Standard black school robes swished together in escalating fervor as his pace increased. Platinum blond hair gleamed from the light of the candles lining the corridor, and his grim countenance was set firm.

_Those bloody idiots,_ Draco Malfoy growled to himself, determined to get as far from the dungeons as possible. _Trying to hold an intelligent conversation with them is like talking to a rock! Of course... the rock would at least be able to comprehend what I was saying._ He was headed for the only place in the school he could find solitude: the library. It was guaranteed that not a single member of his 'fan club' would attempt to follow him in there. The only thing that normally kept him away himself was the incessant presence of a certain Mudblood, but today, even an afternoon in her company would be better than those bloody beasts. _Especially an evening in her company_, a traitorous voice in his head whispered, but the young wizard immediately dismissed it.

Now, don't misunderstand; Crabbe and Goyle were very useful. They kept the smaller, more insignificant students out of his way, and boxed in the ones he deemed worthy of his 'company'. More often than not, this 'company' consisted of a few well-placed verbal barbs, and sometimes even a hex or two. There were also occasions on which the Slytherin Prince could not be bothered to approach his intended victims personally. Those times, he merely delegated the menial task to one of the great oafs that were forever pasting themselves to his sides, and was normally quite pleased with the results. On those days, he would cross the unfortunate student's path later in the day, and have quite a laugh at the bruises they sported, all because of a spoken word on the wealthy blond's part. Today, however, was not one of those days. The Draco that today's sun had smiled (or sneered) upon was starved for intellectual stimulation.

He arrived at his destination at the same time most students would have been entering their final class of the day. His period was free; the benefits, he supposed, of being so studious. Without hesitation, he swept through the ornate oaken doors, briefly admiring the old English script inscribed in them (enter all ye who seek knowledge), and was instantly overtaken by the overwhelming, and oddly comforting, scent of books. It was the aged, musty smell that he associated with knowledge; had, ever since his first visit to the Manor library as a young child, with his mother by his side.

_Table, table; who's got a table? _He would have preferred an empty one, but the Fates would not allow it. Seventh year students lounged about in groups, and as much practice he had in intimidating fellow students, he could not envision himself successfully ousting an entire group of older Ravenclaws from their chosen seats. Instead, he scanned the room for more favorable odds, and was presented with an opportunity he couldn't ignore. One table in the far East corner was free, save for a single seat. A slender brunette sat alone, squinting over a giant book, which was no surprise. That she was squinting, he meant. A single wand lighted the entirety of the corner; even the large window behind her was in the shade, offering no other light source. He watched her for a moment, silent and still, as he carefully considered his options.

_You don't want to go over there, Draco. She's a Mudblood, not even fit to breathe your oxygen, _his inner Malfoy complained. It seemed that even the voice in his head had perfected the Malfoy sneer of disgust.

_I came to the library to find someone who posed a challenge. Who better than the only student in this Merlin-forsaken school that can top my grades?_ Draco argued back. Normally, talking to (and arguing with) oneself is a sign of insanity; for Draco, who had spent six years in the company of mostly brainless Slytherins, it was the only thing that had kept him sane. _Besides. She'll hurt her eyes if she keeps squinting like that._

_Since when do you care? MUD. BLOOD. None of your concern. You can't think about her like she's actually _human.

_She's my only bloody choice! Do you see anyone else in here that- Oh, bugger all. I shouldn't even be having this conversation. It's not good for my health. I'm going. You can't stop me._

_Are you truly that starved for conversation? To willingly submit yourself to the presence of a-_

_What if I went over there to torment her, and a conversation simply... appeared?_

At this, his inner Malfoy was silent. Satisfied, he moved deliberately across the room, using the space between them to decide upon the most efficient way of unnerving her. As his silver eyes took her in, he noted a few key details about her appearance, details a less observant man would have missed; her hair was a lot less bushy than it had been last year, her robes fit a bit more snugly in all the right places. Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Kitten, was finally becoming a woman! Who would have thought? This gave him the perfect avenue to torture; show her _just _how much of a woman she was. Knowing her, and her uptight attitude, that would get to her far quicker than anything else.

She never noticed his approach, didn't see him withdraw his wand from his billowing robes, never heard him whisper 'Lumos' and add his light to her own. She only realized his presence when he leaned down and whispered huskily in her ear. He felt her stiffen as he put a hand on the table on either side of her, and lowered his head until his chest barely grazed her back. His hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "Much more of that, my dear, and those pretty honey eyes of yours will be completely useless." He closed his eyes then, and turned to her hair, taking an audible sniff, and telling himself again that the only reason he did this was to see her reaction. He wasn't affected by her nearness, or by the warmth that emanated from her body in waves of sensuality. He told himself firmly that he wasn't assaulted by fantasies of gripping her hard by her delicate shoulders, spinning her around, and slamming his lips onto hers. He saw her fight with such passion, study with such verve, and again, he told himself that he wasn't interesting in finding out if she loved in the same way.

His self-assurances were interrupted when the small woman between his arms growled his surname, and pushed back in her chair with enough force to send him skidding a few feet.

"My, my, kitten has claws!" Draco chuckled, running his fingers through his jaw-length hair. He was glad he opted to let the locks free from their usual prison as he noted Hermi- Granger's eyes following the movement. Suddenly, those bright orbs were locked on his, and her laser-gaze cut through him. The chuckle slowly turned into his very own trademark smirk, and he slid into the chair across from her. The same smirk adorned his face as he lifted his shoes, and crossed his feet on the table, watching as she furiously gathered the materials he had so carelessly scattered.

"Why don't you find someone else to annoy, Malfoy?"

"Because you're _so_ entertaining?" He offered jovially. When she made no response, simply glared at him in that even way of hers, he feigned contemplation. He put a finger to his chin, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a pantomime of deep thought. "Every other table was full, and as much as I do love terrorizing the rest of the students, there you were, all alone, with no guard dogs in sight. I couldn't very well pass that up, now, could I?"

Without a word, she hefted her bag onto her shoulder. She was leaving? She couldn't leave! Not now. Not when he'd come all the way over to talk- to bother her. He'd come up with the perfect excuse to be around her, and now she was leaving, without even hearing him out?! A single, agonized word tore through his lips. It was barely a whisper, and despite the fact that she was already a few feet away, Granger actually heard it. "Wait." She did wait, which was shocking in and of itself.

_Now you've gone and done it, Draco. You may as well tell her the _real_ reason you came over here. Do it. Malfoy's may manipulate and scheme, but they are not cowards._

* * *

Hermione stood a few feet away from the table she had just vacated, staring in slack-jawed shock at the nuisance that had caused her to flee in the first place. Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts' own Ferret Mascot, had actually called for her. Well, more told her to wait, but it came without insult, which was startling enough on its own. _Does he actually mean to-?_

"I..." He started slowly, clearly not noticing that his left eye was twitching. She watched with amusement as he seemed to war with himself, but that amusement quickly turned to boredom, and finally irritation as he continued to remain silent. Impatiently, she tapped her foot. "Well?"

"Iwantedtotalktoyou," He said in a rush, his pale face coloring quickly as he spoke the words. Was he blushing? But Malfoy didn't blush! IN an instant, maniacal laughter flew from her mouth. _You've got to be joking me._

"You've got to be joking me!" She choked out between bouts of laughter. Every exposed inch of skin on Malfoy's upper half had gone cherry red, from his fingers to the tips of his ears, and that just made her laughter come harder.

"'M not joking," he confirmed, finally reeling in his embarrassment. AS his appearance cooled, so did Hermione's laughter, until he was as pale as he had started, and she just (well, almost) as somber. The only thing that indeed seemed different was their positions. She had reseated herself in her chair; he had slowly slid his heavy heels from the tabletop. "I needed intellectually stimulating conversation in the worst way, and as much as it burns my arse to say it, you're probably the most adept one in the room." He flushed again, quickly, and she choked on another giggle.

"What's this? Ferret Boy is tired of communicating solely in grunts and single syllable words? Of course, real conversation would require the firing of synapses... supposing your two lackeys have any?" She was determined to yak it up as long as she could; it didn't take a top student to recognize this as a fleeting opportunity. She thought he would leave right then, when his dignity was simply bruised as opposed to broken. Instead, her jaw dropped again as he played along.

"Well, as entertaining as it is listening to them grunt 'Goyle hungry' or 'girl pretty' is, you try saying 'I need to know the properties of Unicorn blood when mixed with essence of Mandrake root' in a way that they could understand. How about 'duh'?" He snickered (she'd never actually heard him laugh) at his own humor, and Hermione laughed right along with him. _Did I just hear that correctly? Did Malfoy laugh at my attempted joke, and then add to it, at his own expense? I must be going mad!_

The laughter died, leaving in its wake an awkward, deafening silence. Hermione's chocolate eyes drifted from the dusty tabletop to the dusty bookshelves, to the dusty windowsill behind them, desperate for something to distract her from the wizard who sat a few paces away. When she dared glance at him out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he was doing the same; intently studying specks of dust as silence filled the gulf between them. _He almost looks nervous_, she thought, turning slightly so she could watch him with ease. His pale face and silver eyes were just as devoid of emotion as usual, but the way those emotionless eyes focused on anything but her gave away his uneasiness. Hesitantly, the young brunette witch took a deep breath, and began to speak. She didn't notice the blue eyes and red hair that watched from behind a distant bookshelf.

"So... did you finish your Potions essay for Snape on Monday?"

Hermione may have been deluding herself, but she fancied she saw the Slytherin Prince breathe a sigh of relief when she spoke. "Yes. A full 36 inches of parchment on Sphinx Claws. You?" She nodded in the affirmative, desperately wishing that he would take the initiative this time. He must have been dreading the silence that was sure to follow, because he spoke again quickly. "Did you mention anything about their effect when added to a Time Flux mixture?" She shook her head; indeed she had not. In fact, she hadn't even been aware that Sphinx claws would have different effects on different potions. Intrigued, she leaned forward, and Dra- Malfoy told her what he knew (a Time Flux potion normally speeds or slows time, in accordance to the ingredients used in the mixture, but when fused with Sphinx Claw, can actually _stop_ it). Who would have known that underneath the aloof, callous, pureblooded attitude lay a young man with intelligence to rival her own?

As the conversation progressed, Hermione felt herself ease into a state of semi-comfort. They talked of Defense against the Dark Arts and its new professor, they discussed their uneasiness about Hagrid's next Magical Creature lesson, and other trivial matters, until slowly, she forgot that Malfoy had been the cause of so much distress over the years. _He's actually quite attractive,_ she realized with a jolt. And so he was. His pale skin, for the longest time thought of as sallow, actually had a very sexy, vampiric quality to it. His mercury orbs, normally cold and distant, began carrying glimpses of emotion. They actually twinkled as he smirked at something Hermione had said, and she chose that moment to comment on it.

"Take it easy, there, Malfoy. I think you almost had an expression!" Oops. That was a mistake. His eyes automatically hardened again, and the frost that had begun to thaw between them was back with a vengeance.

"Why would I lower myself to grace you with an actual _expression_, Granger, other than one of utter disgust?" His upper lip rose in that characteristic sneer, and she hung her head. So, they were back to that, then, were they? She would rise to the challenge spectacularly, like she always did, but she didn't have to enjoy it. No, it was rather depressing, watching the shaky camaraderie they had formed fly away like a Snitch on acid.

"The same reason you would 'lower' yourself to associate with me in the first place; no one else will have you!" She shot, gathering her things, determined not to let him see how much he had, in fact, affected her. She turned sharply on one heel, and flounced through the library door, not realizing, nor caring, that every pair of eyes in the room were on her. She didn't even turn to look at the stoic-faced Malfoy she was leaving to deal with the aftermath.


	4. Chapter Three

**_A/N: _**I feel like such and idget! Not only am I in such a hurry to post that I forget to thank my reviewers, I forget to add a disclaimer! Please, oh blessed lady please, I beg you not to sue! I own nothing from the Harry Potter-verse! Unfortunately, I don't own Draco (who I'd sooo do) or 'Mione (who I'd probably just do on principle, lol), nor doI own Harry, or any other character, unless I say otherwise. Although, I really don't plan on having any original characters, so, hey! Now, for my reviewer thanks. Trojan Horse, Malfille, lilnovelist, beloved sister of mine, lil mimi (here's your cookie, hun), sevengee, and no1.slytheringurl, you guys are great, and I love you. Woot! A whole fifteen reviews for me! I really, honestly dont know who reads these author notes anyways, but if you're like me and do, all I have to do is transfer a few files, and chap five will be ready for postage. ON with the story!

_**Chapter Three **_

He had stared after her as she left, in a state of utter shock and confusion. What had just happened? Things had been going so well! They had been in the same room, at the same _table_, for over an hour, with not a single derogatory comment passing between them. He would have been content to sit like that forever (or at least until curfew), but something strange had happened. Curious thoughts had entered his mind (_I wonder if her hair feels as fluffy as it looks? Are her lips really that soft? Would she smile like that if I pressed mine against her?_) and he had subconsciously rebelled, his inner Malfoy refusing to entertain such thoughts about a Mudblood. Now, he sat at his place near the head of the Slytherin Table, silver eyes locked on her petite form as she argued with the red-haired Weasel.

Her eyes were bright with anger, and her frail form verily shook with fury as the debate grew intense; oh, how he loved to watch her when she was like this. This was the root of his obsession, the reason he had mercilessly targeted her with jibes and jokes. Mudblood or not, the majority of Hogwarts' males agreed that there was little more beautiful than Hermione Granger's righteous fury.

That was what drew him to her. Since the beginning of their Hogwarts career, when they had all been but little first years, bossy know-it-all Granger had caught his eye. She seemed to know everything there was to know about Hogwarts and it's goings-on. He'd asked a question on the train, one as simple as where he could find an empty compartment, and after helping him, she'd launched into a long-winded and completely unnecessary explanation of the floor plan. From that moment on, he'd been entranced with the brunette, and of course, being the immature eleven year that he was, teased her constantly as a sign of his growing affection. Then, she befriended Potter, of all people. It wasn't until after that, that he found out about her heritage, and shattered all of his little eleven year old fantasies. Wouldn't it just figure that the smartest, most beautiful girl in his year, the only one even _close_ to fulfilling the standards set by his family, was a filthy, dirty Mudblood? Then, in third year, she had slapped him across the face. There was no trace of fear in her expression, nor sadness; just pure, unadulterated fury, aimed solely at him. That was the first time she'd ever reacted so spectacularly, the first time she'd ever favored him with more than a simple, curt dismissal. He did everything in his power to make sure it wouldn't be the last.

He watched as the Boy Who Lived To Bitch And Moan took a seat across from the Muggleborn, and noticed that Hermi- Gran- er, the bossy know-it-all sat as well. He couldn't tear his eyes from her long, shapely legs as they slid gracefully into the bench, nor could he stop himself from wondering what else lay beneath the layers of her robe.

"Hi, Drakie!" A simpering voice startled him from his vigil, and he rolled his eyes as Pansy Parkinson draped herself over his lap, and ran her perfectly manicured fingernails through his long blond locks. Pansy was a Slytherin in his own year, and could be considered beautiful, if you disregarded every word that came from her mouth. Not by him. She struck him as a rather whiny bint, and her little button nose (deemed 'adorable by younger Slytherins in hushed tones) was always upturned, causing her to roughly resemble a rather twitchy bird. Disgusted with her attentions, Draco grit his teeth, and endured. The Parkinsons were a very distinguished (and very rich) pureblood family, and (even worse) very close family friends. His father would not appreciate it if he heard that Draco was turning down the advances of the Parkinson Princess. There would be hell to pay.

"I missed you so much during last period, Drakiepooh! Why did you drop the class?" _To get away from you!_ He thought to himself, not daring to say it out loud. Appearances, after all, were everything.

"Oh, sod off, Parkinson. Malfoy doesn't want your slimy arse crawling all over him." Blaise Zabini, Draco's oldest and dearest friend, slid into the empty chair on his left, laughing quietly as Pansy scuttled away, bubbling in anger. Draco shot a grateful look at the dark-haired young man, who smirked in return.

"Thanks Zabini. You've no idea how hideous she can be." Blaise nodded, and proceeded to fill a plate with food. Draco studied him for a moment, drawing on the familiar presence to stabilize himself. So many odd things had been occurring lately (namely, his not-so-sudden attraction to Granger) that he had to reassure himself that the world was still spinning; with the appearance of his childhood friend and young-adulthood confidante, Draco once again felt confident that everything was as it should be. Blaise looked the same as he always did. His dark brown hair had grown longer, it seemed, until the tips brushed his jaw line, but the midnight blue eyes still held the confidence and intelligence that had been his defining characteristic since birth. He was the only Slytherin Draco could think of with intelligence to match his own, and knew for a fact that he was only Slytherin he could trust.

But where the hell had he been earlier that night? His absence is what had driven him to the library in the first place... in fact, he could blame Blaise for every improper thought that went through his head about the Mud- about Gra- about Hermi- about that stupid witch. Without thought, his silver eyes drifted back over the Hall until they once again rested on the woman in question, a motion that did not go unnoticed by his companion.

Zabini's eyes followed Malfoy's until they determined his focal point; Hermione Granger. Blaise wasn't sure if Draco knew it or not, but as of late, he always seemed to search her out. He wondered how long it was going to take the blond to admit he was in love with her. Of course, Blaise could see why. The young woman was a spitfire, in a lot of ways. He hadn't been raised with the prejudices Malfoy had grown up with, and therefore recognized a good thing when he saw one. It was entirely too bad that Malfoy refused to drop his pre-conceived notions of bloodlines. If combined, Hermione's intelligence and Draco's guile would be unstoppable.

_He walked across the hall to where she was laughing gaily with her friends, and pulled her forcefully from her chair. Warm, honey eyes gazed up at him innocently as he held her by the neck of her robes, and all of a sudden, he couldn't think straight. He'd come over here to finally kill her... or was it kiss her? Her little pink tongue darted out and nervously wet plump, parted lips. By now, his brain had stopped functioning completely. He ignored the Weasel and Scarface, who were staring at him in stupor, taken completely by surprise. He likewise ignored the other Gryffindors that crowded around them, gaping in shock and yelling in rage at the idiot who dared touch Hermione Granger like that with her (useless) bodyguards so near. He even ignored the teachers, who screamed at him to '_let her go this instant'_. She was everything... the world existed only for her. Her already large doe eyes widened as he drew her nearer, and in this instant, he knew precisely what he had to do. He had to -_

"She's something, isn't she?" Blaise's voice roused him from his daydream, just as he was about to solve the mystery once and for all.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, applying what he hoped was just the right amount of confusion to get Zabini to question what he saw. It didn't work.

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, Draco. I know you better than you know yourself... you were staring at Granger." His friend smirked as he carefully wiped his face of all emotion. "You're going all stony, Malfoy! You know as well as I do what that means!" Blaise's sing-song tone was beginning to annoy him; he let that annoyance seep into his voice as he spoke.

"What... that the little Mudblood bitch thoroughly pisses me off, and the fact that you are audacious enough to suggest that I was _staring_ at her completely sickens me?"

"No. It means that I hit things right on the nose, and it bothers you that I'm right. Or, possibly, it doesn't bother you that I' right..." He paused, looking Draco up and down for a moment, and creasing his brow. "What bothers you... is what I'm right about."

Emotionally wracked ant feeling deeply conflicted, Draco didn't like this insight a single bit. He wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin and pushed back from the table. "I'm going back to the dormitory for an early night. Hopefully, I'll wake up early enough to get a bit of Quidditch practice in before Potty and his Weasel take over the pitch for their weekly 'Saturday Session'. Not that they don't need it." Without another word, he was gone, swaggering down the aisle between the tables as though he owned the school and everyone in it. But even as he reached the doors, he couldn't leave the room without shooting one last look at the attractive Muggleborn. As he did so, he caught Blaise's eye. The dark-haired wizard offered him a mocking salute, before a scowling Draco Malfoy threw wide the doors, and stalked to the dungeons. _Just be thankful it's a weekend,_ he thought to himself. _Won't have to deal with her for two whole days._


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: Okee, folks, here ya go. The long awaited yeah right next installment to Bloodlines. I've been going through, rereading what I've written, and noticed that a lot of things are missing, and a lot needs to be edited, so I'm really sorry this took so long. I'm thinking about changing up the first couple three chapters, and adding in another before this one, so don't take what I've written here as gospel. Please don't yell too badly if it kinda sucks, because I was in kinda a rush.. but hey! Free cookies to all who review! Oh, and if anyone can help me out a little bit, with editing and plot bunny capture (they all ran away. I'm out of carrots), drop me a line in a review or email- Lady bless knowsI could certainly use the help!

OH, btw, quick poll question... Do we like Cling!Pansy? Or do we like Sadisticallyintelligentfriend!Pansy? and are we of the wanting of Blaise/Ginny? Or Harry/Ginny? Either would work for the basic plot, and either would change it minutely. Some may make it more interesting, but I'm not sure. Hehe, let me know, folks.

Disclaimer: Blah. Not mine, but if it was, this certainly wouldn't be called FAN fiction. it would just be fiction. Right? On with the Show!

"No! Neville, you're supposed to add the hellebore _before_-" The small cauldron in front of them bounced around the table before exploding with a bang, effectively covering Neville and his partner with dark purple slime. His partner sneered at her gooey robes in disgust and shook her hands swiftly, ignoring the laughter of her fellow students as a glob of goop hit the stone floor with an audible _plop_. Turning back to Neville, Hermione sighed. "- the toads' eyes. Bollocks." She finished weakly. The weekend had gone by far to fast, in her opinion. She would have given anything to be safely back in her dorm, spending the day in a 'girl talk' session with Parvati and Lavender than waiting for Snape's reprimand. Speaking of Snape...

Drawn by the commotion, Professor Snape trounced over, robes billowing ominously behind him. "Longbottom! Granger! Ten points each from Gryffindor for being incompetent fools!" He sneered down at the two students. One was sheepishly attempting to clean up the slimy mess, while the other simply stared at the dark-haired professor (_greasy-haired git_) with barely restrained rage.

With a flick of Snape's wand, the quivering mass of gelatinous goo disappeared from the floor. The freckled boy clasped his hands together and stood at his now-clean textbook, face growing hot as his peers laughed. Hermione looked down at her robes, and noticed that they were still covered in slime. Quickly, she raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Granger?" Snape acknowledged her with contempt.

"Our... our robes are still dirty, Professor. Do you think that you might..."

"Clean them for you? Absolutely not!" This caused the Slytherins in the room to giggle uncontrollably, and Snape nearly smiled as he continued. "That, Miss Granger, is your punishment for being unable to complete such a simple concoction. As is this. Mr. Malfoy!" He barked, causing poor Neville to give a small shriek of terror. The blond boy snapped to attention. "I trust your mixture is complete?"

"Yes sir." Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes as Malfoy smirked. Of course his was finished. The fates wouldn't allow her that one little break. Now, why would Snape want to know about Malfoy's potion? Unless, of course, he means to...

"Bring a vial over here. We're going to do a quick test before class is dismissed." Of course. How could she possibly believe the Professor would let her escape with something as simple as a set of dirty robes? Casting a hesitant glance to the table where her friends sat (their faces were dark with trepidation, but oddly enough, she wasn't worried. Malfoy didn't have top marks, even higher than her own, for nothing!), she stepped forward, and held out her arm.

"Remember," Snape growled loudly, causing her meek table-mate to squeak unintentionally, "The toads' eyes in the potion will react with the testee's blood type, and turn the appropriate color. Can anyone _beside Miss Granger_," he emphasized before she could even raise her hand, sending the other students into giggles once more, "Remember the appropriate color associations?"

Shockingly, the only hand to move belonged to none other than one Ron Weasley!

"Weasley." Snape grunted reluctantly.

"Blue for pure blood," her redhead friend wasted no time in answering, obviously surprised at being called on at all, "Red for half, and green for-"

"Mudbloods." Malfoy's drawl interrupted. "Green for dirty, filthy little Mudbloods."

Hermione felt her face flush, first in shame, then quickly followed by open hostility. She was unable to keep the edge rom her voice as she snapped, "Oh, let's get on with it already." Her adversary raised one pale eyebrow before handing his flask to the sneering professor, who unceremoniously dumped all the contents on the young witch's bare arm. The pale lavendar mixture ebbed and waned like an erratical tide before shuddering, and turning a dark, clear-

Blue? Draco frantically went over his method, searching desperately for an error when the potion on Granger's arm turned a deep, cerulean blue. Her honey brown eyes widened in shock at first, and despite his (_quite obvious_) disgust, he couldn't help the pull of desire that shot through him as she arched her elegant neck, threw back her head, and laughed. Tt was a light sound, one she might make when she was truly happy, and a traitorous part of his mind chortled in glee when he realized he was the one that caused it. Class was dismissed, and as the other students gathered their things, his eyes locked on hers, and she said quietly, "Looks like that Potions' mark wasn't as well earned as I thought."

"My potion was perfect," he sneered, refusing to flinch when she was flanked by her two cronies. It was perfect, he was sure of it! He'd added the toads' eyes right after the hellebore, stirred clockwise twice, counter-clockwise five times, and watched as his mixture turned the exact lavender shade sampled in the book. If that was the case... then why did the potion turn blue? He sneered at the girl and her friends, matching their expressions of disdain ounce for ounce. Could it just be that there was something 'Mudblood' Granger wasn't telling them?

"Come on, 'Mione. We need to go to the library." Potter growled, glaring at Draco as he wrapped a possessive arm around the young witch's waist. Draco stared at the offending appendage, and realized just how wrong that image was. Potter shouldn't be touching her. It was offending, not just to anyone with a sense of decency, but to Granger as well. Potter wasn't fit to touch her. Suddenly, he realized that the intelligent eyes that had previously been so focused on his, now turned to Scarface. He scowled.

"It's alright, Harry. He wasn't bothering me." She cast one more look in his direction (_was it just his imagination, or did he see longing in her eyes?_) and left, her two baboons close at her side.

Blaise wasted no time. AS soon as the Golden Trio had disappeared, he crossed the classroom. "What the bloody hell was that?" He asked, sidling up next to Draco, who was busy grumbling as he shoved his parchment and quills into his school bag.

"I don't know. I've never botched a potion so badly before."

"Not the potion, you dumbass," the darker boy scoffed, following the blond out of the classroom and down the dark corridor leading to the Slytherin commons, "The look in your eyes when you were talking to her!" Draco looked at him curiously as they stopped before the portrait. He said the password, and gracefully stepped inside, Zabini close behind him. "I thought you were going to take a bite out of her!"

"What can I say? Stupid bint pisses me off!" He rolled his eyes when Blaise just lifted an eyebrow at him, and sat down in one of the green easy chairs. The other boy followed suit, (he seemed to follow Draco a lot...?) and plopped down haphazardly on the couch across from him.

"Not what I meant, you ponce. You looked like you were hungry for her... do you have a thing for her?"

He didn't answer at first... hard to answer a question when you're not sure of the answer. He though of all the times he'd insulted her, just to get her to react. He though of all the times he reveled in the response he received from her. He thought of all the times he'd watched her cavorting with her two little friends, and thought they weren't worth her time. Did he have a thing for Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Golden Girl?

"Of course not!" He laughed aloud, and began sorting through his things for his next class. It didn't start for another hour or so, of course, but it didn't hurt to be prepared. Besides, Granger would be there. He couldn't let her show him up, again. "She's a mudblood, Blaise, or have you forgotten?"

"You know I don't hold with any of that blood nonsense." Blaise looked his friend over, and sighed. He wasn't going to win this battle, not now. "Seen as how you're so obviously in denial, what did happen to your potion?"

Draco stiffened visibly. "I don't know for sure. I think the Weasel put something in it while I wasn't looking." Never mind that he hadn't taken his eyes off the cauldron for a single second. "Imagine," he snorted, "little Mudblood Granger trying to pass herself off as pureblood." It would take care of a lot of problems, though, if she were. He wouldn't have to disguise his respect for her intelligence, and... he would be able to pursue her the way he'd wanted to since first year. He sighed audibly, dropping his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes to scrub away the weariness he felt. "I don't know. It just doesn't-"

"Make any sense!" Hermione exclaimed to her friends, only to be immediately shushed by Madame Pince. "Sorry," she whispered, wincing. Shortly after exiting the dungeons, she, Ron, and Harry had been joined by Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister, and Hermione's closest girl-friend. As was their custom, they had all obediently followed her to the library, and were now sifting through tome after dusty tome, trying to find an explanation for the botched potion.

"I mean, that potion was impeccable," she continued, keeping her voice low. She flipped a page in the book she held then tossed it aside, letting it fall haphazardly in the growing pile on the floor, only to pick another off the top of the stack in the middle of the table. "I watched him make it, and he didn't make a single mistake! There is a reason, you know, that he beat my marks in that class."

"Yeah, because both he and Snape are Slytherin gits," Harry sneered, causing Ginny to giggle. He almost asked why she'd been watching Malfoy rather than her own partner, but seeing the mood she was in now, thought immediately better of it. He'd been on the receiving end of plenty of her rants before, and those fueled by frustration (or her insatiable quests for knowledge, like now) were infinitely worse. And louder. So, he kept his mouth closed, content with nudging Ginny under the table with his foot. Ron, however, needed a lesson or two in discretion, and barged in headfirst.

"Why were you watching the Ferret? Unless he was performing his Amazing Rubber Rodent routine, he can't be _that_ bloody interesting."

Hermione felt her face grow hot. Why _was_ she watching Dr- er, Malfoy? _Trying to puzzle him out, perhaps? _Yes, that was it. He'd shown her a side of himself that she'd never seen that day in the library, a side that was almost kind, a side that didn't throw insults at her every other word. When you disregarded all of his ridiculous prejudices, all of his more bastard-like qualitites, you were left wit a remarkably intelligent, witty, interesting young man, and she had actually found him appealing! Then, of course, as was the way of the world, their tentative truce had been shattered into a million pieces, leaving both of them snarling and wounded. So, naturally, she was searching for the person she'd met in the corner of the library, the person she'd found so attractive. _Did you find him?_

Ron was still ranting, his face the hue of an over-ripe tomato. "Really, 'Mione, first you talk with him _like he's a real human being_, then you watch him in class? People are going to start thinking things, and I can guarantee you they won't be good."

Harry, who'd been preoccupied with Ginny, turned to look at Ron, locking his wide emerald eyes with his friend's, and quirked an eyebrow. Ron nodded, then crossed his arms, and waited for the fireworks. Harry turned to his bushy-haired best friend, and asked in a low, threatening voice, "You were talking to Malfoy?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but Ron interrupted before she had the chance. "Didn't I tell you?" At the terse shake of the dark-haired boy's head, Ron shrugged." I guess not. Yes, she was talking to him Friday, before supper. We were arguing about it before-"

"I don't see what business it is of yours!" Hermione huffed, staring down at her book. She couldn't stand listening to the boys talking about her like she wasn't there. They did so quite often, and this time, she wasn't going to stand for it. "I talked with Malfoy, yes, and when he's not being a complete prat, his company is quite enjoyable!"

"But.. he's a Malfoy!" Harry protested, as though she'd gone completely daft. "Remember? Leader of Junior Death Eaters, Inc? Don't you remember, his dad's rotting away in Azkaban? Is this ringing a bell?"

Her eyes locked on his, all thoughts of her quest flown from her mind. She could feel the fury building in her breast, and stood slowly, towering over her friends at the table. Harry could clearly see the passionate fire burning in her chocolate eyes, and gulped. Here it comes. "He is not a Death Eater! Sure, he has some prejudices against people, and yes, his father _is _in Azkaban, but his is _not _his father." Despite the low volume of her words, and the controlled infliction of her voice, her tone betrayed her anger. She and Draco had talked about this exact perception, in great detail, during one of the more serious parts of their conversation. He was sick of everyone assuming he was nothing more than a carbon copy of Lucius. He knew that the entirety of Hogwarts' population, save a select few knowledgeable Slytherins, thought he was a Death Eater already, or would soon become one upon his graduation. She had thought the same thing, of course, but this perception was shattered as he'd explained to her, in no uncertain terms, that he had no intention of following in his father's footsteps. 'Malfoys,' he had explained, adopting his characteristic haughtiness, 'Call no one Master... and my good-for-nothing father is wasting the rest of his useless life in Azkaban for breaking that tenet.' Then, of course, he'd looked straight at her and promised that if she ever repeated a word, he'd _Avada _her on the spot. She should have kept her word, she knew this, but she couldn't bear to hear her two best friends casually throwing such a hefty accusation around. "So he's a Malfoy!" She jabbed a finger in Harry's direction, and watched with grim satisfaction when he flinched, "You're a Potter." Her arm swung until she was gesturing at her two red-haired companions, who looked as though they wished nothing more than to be somewhere else, "Those two are Weasley's. I'm a Granger. What's your point?"

"That _is_ the point!" Ron hissed, calling her attention. "We're who we are. You're a Granger. Muggleborn, remember? He's a Malfoy, raised to hate all Muggleborns. Merlin, 'Mione, you're just begging for him to hurt you!"

Chastised, Hermione's mouth snapped shut, mid-argument. Of course they weren't angry with her, how stupid could she be? They were just looking out for, like they always had. In their first year, hadn't they saved her from that ugly troll? They didn't even like her then! In second year, hadn't Ron burped slugs for days because Malfoy called her a Mudblood? So many times, they'd protected her, more often than not, from Malfoy himself. Now, here she was, approaching the son of Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right-hand-man. She was a traitor.

_But what about all the other times?_ whispered a rebellious voice. _The Devil's Snare, and Snape's riddled potions? Discovering the Monster of the Chamber? Slapping Malfoy hard across the face? Leading Umbridge into the woods? Fighting side by side with them amongst thousands of prophecies? Haven't you more than proved your ability to take care of yourself?  
_Before she could utter another syllable, Ginny interrupted diplomatically. "If Malfoy's potion was perfect, what could have caused that reaction?" Ron and Harry both cast glares in the younger red-head's direction; Hermione merely smiled gratefully at her.

"I suppose we could ask Dumbledore..." Ron supplied grudgingly. It wasn't like him to give up on an argument so easily, and the fact that he was just letting go nibbled on his ego. Unfortunately, they had more important matters to attend to. Besides.. he could always corner her in the common room before bed.

After a few moments of contemplation, Hermione nodded her head once, firmly, and rose from her seat. NO sooner had she and her friends taken a single stem than Madame Pince called out to her.

"Miss Granger! Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in the Headmaster's office." Well. Wasn't that an odd coincidence.

Harry and Ron shot each other worried looks; Ginny laid her hand on her bushy-haired friend's shoulder, bolstering her confidence. Smiling at them, Hermione strode confidently from the room. Three minutes and four books later, Ron looked at Harry and Ginny, the tips of his ears red. "Do you reckon we should have gone with her?"


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: Here's another chapter! I think I'm going to just finish it out as it, and when it's been completely written and posted, go back through, edit, and change. So if, after I say its completed, another chapter pops up, please read, because it'll probs be a lot different than the one I posted originally:D

Disclaimer: Not mine, lala.

"Ah, Miss Granger! I've been expecting you. Please sit down." The wizened old wizard gestured to a comfortable-looking armchair across the desk from his own identical chair and smiled. She sat obediently, shaking her head politely when he asked, "Lemon drop?" and pushed a small bowl of the sour Muggle treats to the center of the table.

"Professor," she started, twisting her fingers together nervously. When she noticed her fidgeting, Hermione stopped immediately, and lowered her hands to her sides. "I have a question. It pertains to-"

"Mr. Malfoy's potion-brewing abilities, I presume?" Dumbledore chuckled quietly, and fixed the young brunette wiht a knowing gaze that made her feel as though he could read her every thought (_which he probably could. She'd heard from many a student that he was an accomplished Legilimens_), and she once again began fidgeting nervously. "I thought you mihgt be curious about that, Miss Granger. You wouldn't quite be yourself if you were not!" He laughed a bit at his own dry humor. Then his smile dimmed, and Hermione found herself sitting in front of an uncharateristically somber Headmaster.

"Well, I am. Curious, I mean. Please, sir-" She was cut off from her useless, stumbling sentence with a wave of one wrinkled hand, so she sat silently, watching as Dumbledore twisted the end of his long beard in thought. After a few unbearably long moments, Hermione made to speak again, but was halted once more by the Professor. This time, however, he decided to speak.

"Recently, some... interesting events have been called to my attention. It is my duty, as your Headmaster, and your friend, to inform you of these events. I've just today recieved an owl from your parents."

It took a moment for Hermione to process what he'd said. Owl? From her parents? "But, sir, my parents are Muggles! They don't use owl post."

The white wizard nodded grimly, and locked his bright eyes with her own. "I know," he stated gravely. "I recieved the owl from your biological parents."

Draco Malfoy sat silently in the back of Arithmancy, his favorite class next to Potions, despite (_because of?_)the fact that it was the only class he had with Granger without her pet slugs. He wasn't paying attention to the front of the classroom, where Professor Vector droned on about a chapter he'd already read. Instead, his unwavering focus was trained on the suspiciously empty seat a few rows in front of him; a seat normally obscured from sight by waves of bushy chesnut hair.

No one had seen her since Potions last period, not even her cronies. Draco was sure of this; he'd had Crabbe and Goyle tail them for a few corridors. It was definately curious. If the potion he brewed was somehow toxic, they would surely blame him for Granger's death! He could see the headlines of the Daily Prophet now:

SON OF IMPRISONED DEATH EATER MURDERS BOY-WHO-LIVED'S BEST FRIEND

His mother would definately get a kick out of it.

_Keep telling yourself that, Draco. _That little voice in his head was back._ Of _course_ you're only worried about what her disappearance would do to your reputation. Nevermind that she's MISSING, and you're worried about her._

Ok. So maybe he was worried. Just a little bit. The same way one would be worried if his or her personal house elf went missing. _Mmmmm hmmm, riiight._ He briefly recalled the shock and confusion on Professor Vector's face when class was called to order and Granger wasn't present to play teacher's pet. The befuddled professor had called the witch's name four times before conceding that she was indeed absent.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Startled, Draco looked up, only to have his eyes meet the Professor's, who was standing no more than a foot away. _Woah. When had she gotten so close?_ "This came for you, from Professor Snape. Apparently, he wants to see you in his classroom immediately." She looked mildly annoyed as she handed him a small piece of parchment. He immediately recognized Snape's scrawling hand, collected his things, and rose from the chair.

"What can I help you with, Professor?" He asked, safely inside the dungeon classroom, the door barred from the inside. The dark-haired man lifted his eyes from the parchment he was marking, and a rare smile graced his normally pinched features.

"Draco! Please, come sit down." Draco complied without hesitation, sitting on a fluffy chair that appeared out of nowhere while Snape busied himself conjuring a tea service with a wave of his wand. "We're quite alone down here, you know." When the young man's expression did not change, Snape sighed. "I've known you since your birth, Draco. I daresay it's safe for you to call me Severus." The unusually chipper professor chuckled as his favorite student nodded, almost imperceptibly. "I analyzed your potion," he continued as the blond boy picked up a dainty biscuit, inspecting it thoroughly before nibbling on a corner nervously. _Here it comes,_ the young man thought to himself, cringing, _the yelling, the questioning, the scandalously low marks..._

Instead, he was shocked when Snape positively beamed at him. "It was immaculate! I must say, my boy, I knew your skill in my class was exemplary, but that was an extremely difficult potion, and you pulled it off without a hitch!"

"Severus," Draco started, rolling the foreign name about his tongue, "I don't doubt you, sir, but surely something must have been-"

"No." The Potions master cut him short, shaking his greasy head. "Your potion was impeccable. It is with Miss Granger that the fault lies."

"But... Granger can't be.."

"Pureblood?" The teacher laughed, a scratchy sound that made the younger wizard squirm in his seat. "Certainly is a shock, isn't it? I never would have thought it."

He stared in shock as his most trusted professor carelessly and effortlessly turned his world upside down. "But... there are only so many pureblood families in England, sir. Shouldn't we have known this already? If she's not a Mud- er, sorry." Draco's pale face flamed in embarrassment as the older man raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. "If she's not _muggleborn_, then... who is she?"

Snape, refusing to answer the question, took a moment to rummage around in a small black velvet pouch before pulling out an envelope, and handing it over to the young Malfoy. "Your mother sent this to me, along with another letter, explaining to me the situation, and requesting that I give this one to you." He gestured to the letter he offered to Draco, and smirked. "Had to make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands, you see."

Nodding, Draco hesitantly broke the wax seal bearing the Malfoy crest, and pulled out a relatively long piece of parchment.

_Draco,_

_Surely, by now you've heard the news. Do you remember the Griswalds? Of course you do; Mr. Griswald is a _dear_ friend of your father's, and both he and his wife visited numerous times over the summer, offering their support after your father's wrongful imprisonment._ _It now falls to me to detail their story. 20 years ago, Ferdinand Griswald and Gillian Pillarsnicket moved here from France. Mr. Griswald met your Father at a banquet, and Lucius introduced him to our beliefs, and slowly but surely, Freddie and his lover became devout followers of our Lord. They were very wealthy, and held nothing back when the Dark Lord asked. Soon, they were destitute. Of course, as was commanded by our Lord, we put them up, until he asked that they be wed. As He sanctioned the wedding, your father and I gladly financed it. Nine months later, Gillian was pregnant. Though oddly unexpected, her conception seemed to suit Him; he directed them to a mediwizard that was in the buisness of ... babies, and Gillian's child was taken care of. She recieved a large sum for the transaction, and after some guided investing, the Griswalds again became the wealthy, respected wizards they had been. Unfortunately, the mediwizards were apprehended before the child could be given to someone of respectable heritage. _

_Now, dear, I'm sure you're wondering what all this means to you. After all these years, Freddie and Gill have come to me, exxlaiming htat they have found their long-lost child, and would like to bring her home. Coincidentally, the child in question is a student at Hogwarts. Actually, she is a student in your own year, and you may have mentioned her once or twice... Hermione Granger? Raised with Muggle 'parents', the poor dear. Imagine how she'll react when she discovers her _true_ family! From what I understand, the Griswalds have claimed custody of young Hermione, and have owled Albus Dumbledore with the news. Hopefully, the crackpot old fool wont stick his protruding nose where it doesn't belong._

_Draco, my dear, I have just one request. I want you find and befriend Miss Griswald; goodness knows she's going to go through a terrible upheavel, discovering that she's not such a lowly wretch after all. Oh, can you imagine? Being thrust into a society that was once so far above you... It simply must be terrifying. I'm sure she'll be thrilled, though. I want you to make her comfortable, make her feel she's one of our own. She'll be visiting her family over the coming holiday break, and consequently, will be at the Manor for at least three days. We wouldn't want her to disappoint her new family, now, would we?_

_Your Loving Mother_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

_P.S. I hesitate to tell you, Draco, but because this letter is not going through the Owl Post, I feel it is only appropriate. Your father has been excused by the Ministry of Magic (following a very _gracious_ donation, I assure you), and he will be released from prison in time for your holiday. Your father also wishes you to befriend Miss Griswald. Do not disappoint us, my son._

Upon finishing this unexpected letter, Draco took a moment to think. _The Griswalds? _An image was brought to mind almost immediately; Mrs. Griswald was smiling widely, her long brown curls glowing lustrously in the early-morning sunlight as her husband wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently nuzzling her throat. Young Draco had thought they were the epitome of a loving relationship, and he was not far from the truth. The Griswalds, despite their bigotry and Dark beliefs, held a very rare relationship; one based upon respect and love as opposed to fear and control.

Never mind the news that Lucius was being released. He would have plenty of time to ponder the consequences of that action later. "No. Absolutely not." Right now he was having trouble comprehending that Granger, bushy-haired Granger, was part of that picture perfect family. "I refuse to believe it," he whispered, staring hard at the parchment in his hand and wishing desperately that it would just disappear.

"Believe it, boy." Snape spoke, startling Draco, who had forgotten he wasn't alone. The Potions Master smiled, and the younger wizard unconciously flinched, far from used to such a display from his teacher. "Your mother wishes you to befriend Miss Granger - er, Miss Griswald, does she not?" Draco nodded sullenly, understanding the track his professor's thought was taking. "I also understand that this _request_," Snape hissed the word with a delighted snarl on his face, "Originates with your father, am I correct?"

Draco could only nod; his mouth was too dry to attempt speech. Directly from his father. _Do not disappoint us, my son._ Any order that came from his father came from the Dark Lord as well. Ministry of Magic aside, Draco held no illusions as to what type of man his father was. If he failed this assignment, he knew the consequences would be dire. Growling, he wadded the paper into a small ball, and tossed it on the professor's desk.

"How can they expect me to approach her?" He asked loudly, unsure if he was actually expecting an answer. Before Snape could offer any, he continued. "For Merlin's sake, not only does she hate me, her entire world has been turned upside down!" Sighing, the blond pulled out his wand and began tapping it on the arm of the chair, an action he knew Snape found extremely annoying. Funny, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. When the tapping lost some of its appeal, he ran one hand swiftly through the length of his hair, sweeping it back from his forehead, then letting it fall in a waterfall of silver-blond. It was a persistant habit; when he was distressed, or bored, or excited, his hands would automatically find his hair. Something about the action soothed him, and most times kept him from doing something irrational. "Under these conditions..." He paused for a moment before groaning loudly. "Trying to talk to her is going to be suicide!"

"It would be something like sending a ferret into a starving lion's den," Snape said, trying with difficulty to keep a straight face. The look his young companion gave him made it that much worse. "Although I doubt she's been told just yet. Dumbledore will probably mull over the decision for a time yet; try to find the best way to tell her."

"Of course," Draco grumbled. "Wouldn't want to damage his precious Golden Girl." Suddenly, he was struck with another revelation. He jumped from his seat, his hands tousling his hair almost desperately. _Oh shit._ This particular 'Golden Girl' wasn't the only gilded one of the group, was she? "What about Potter?" He asked quietly, turning to face the older wizard directly. "He'll never let me get anywhere near her!I don't think telling him, 'Oh, yes, I need to steal your best little girlfriend for a while, on orders from my father and Voldemort." He saw Snape twitch, and couldn't supress his glee. _Take that! Never call me a ferret again, you coot._

"When has Potter ever stopped you before?" His professor shot back quietly, smirking. "Other than on the Quidditch pitch, I mean." Even the greasy-haired wizard couldn't help but use the barb as it became available. Draco chose, wisely, to ignore the stinging remark; instead, he made to leave the room. He had some serious thinking to do. "Do visit soon!" Snape called mock-jovially as Draco opened the door. The blond bid him farewell, and shut the door. Ignoring the chill of the dungeon, Draco began to walk.

A/N: You know, i think I made a funny in here somewhere! Let me know if you have a really humorous one-liner you'd like to see in the story, send it in, and I'll see what I can do!


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: I know I said I'd lost the edited versions of this and the next couple chapters, but I had to get one out. This was bugging the bejesus out of me!

WARNING: Not exactly rape, but some rougher scenes coming up. The next chapter will be worse, but I'll put something up about that later. Only a couple harsh words in this chapter, but enough to make the kiddies cringe.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately, Draco is J.K.'s creation, and cannot, in fact, be my willing sex slave. Damn. Hermione, as well, belongs to the genius of J.K., and I'll forever be jealous.

She was in shock. She couldn't feel anything but the frigid air, flowing over her restlessly as she tried to re-establish her grip on reality. Dumbledore's office had ceased to exist, as had the room's only other occupant. _This is impossible, absolutely impossible. It must be some kind of mistake._ Everything was... wrong. It all looked so fake! The colors were too vivid, the scents were too strong; it was as though she had walked into a painting by a blind man. Voices echoed through her memory, taunting whispers and screaming accusations, biting insecurities and tormenting laughter. Hermione's knuckles whitened as her grip on the chair tightened; if she let go, she was sure she'd fall into the swirling vortex that the room had become.

_Flash!_

_She was six years old, sitting on her bed, cradling her newest family portrait. She gazed longingly at her mother's luscious golden hair, and with envy uncharacteristic of such a young child, her small fingers traced her father's sandy brown locks. As her focus drifted from her parent's fair features to her own chestnut curls, a single question flitted through her innocent mind, gone before it had quite finished forming. "Why do I look so different?"_

Flash!

The room wobbled once again. Hermione's nails bit sharply into her palms, but she ignored the pain. She was too caught up in the memories...

_Flash!_

_Seven-year-old Hermione tailed obediently behind her mother in the bookstore, wide eyes shimmering in awe at all of the colorful pleasures that surrounded her. The lady at the counter had finished bagging their items, and smiled pleasantly at Guen, before whispering words meant to be kept from a child's ears; "It's so nice of you to adopt!"_

_The blonde beauty shook her head, polite smile fading from her face as she claimed, "She's mine. I didn't adopt. It's quite rude of you to assume things like that!"_

_The woman behind the counter apologized contritely, but poor little Hermione hadn't understood a word. Of course she'd been listening, but she was entirely too captivated by those picture-book treasures to question what 'adopt' meant._

Flash!

She could feel the hot, sticky beads of blood trickle from the crescent cuts on her palms, and lowered her eyes to inspect them. The droplets were ruby red. Her blood looked no different, no _purer_, but that was to be expected, wasn't it? After all, she'd been _pure_ all along, hadn't she? Even the voice inside her head sneered the word with unbridled disgust.

"Miss Granger, are you-"

"Don't call me that!" She snapped, the first words she'd uttered since Professor Dumbledore had told her the news. _Granger_. Since first year, that name had been made interchangeable with the word _Mudblood_, by Draco Malfoy, one of the schools most prominent _pureblood_ students. The name of the people she'd never see again. Where would she go? She most certainly couldn't go home; no, these Griswald people had made perfectly sure that she could never go home again.

_Flash!_

_"They say that your disappearance was a fluke in the Muggle record system," Dumbledore was explaining, watching the witch in front of him quake. "Gillian-er, Mrs. Griswald, was visiting her squib sister in Muggle Manchester when she went into labor. We all know how dangerous it is to Apparate when pregnant, so Mr. Griswald took her to a Muggle hospital. They say the nurse took you down to the nursery, and they never saw you again."_

_If so, why didn't they look for me sooner? That was what Hermione wanted to ask, but instead, she chose a different question. "What about Mum and Dad? I want to talk to them."_

_The great man shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that is impossible. The Griswald's have claimed custody of you, and a team of Obliviators from the Ministry have already been sent to the Granger home."_

_"Don't they get a say in this? Don't I?" She had cried, tears welling in her eyes. Once again, the headmaster shook his head gravely. _

_"No. According to Wizard Law, your real parents, the Griswalds, would normally challenge the current custody claim. Unfortunately, because your adoptive parents are Muggles, they can take no part in the hearing, and lose all privileges. As you are not yet of age, you cannot oppose the decision. All of your legal documents have been altered; you are now officially a Griswald, and I'm afraid there is no going back._

Flash!

She rose from her chair, refusing to acknowledge Dumbledore's pleading request that she remain in his office, and left the room. She didn't know where she was going and truthfully, she couldn't care any less. She just wanted to get away; she wanted to escape the pity that shone from her Headmaster's eyes like beacons, to escape the stubborn crush of reality, to escape the knowledge that everything had changed. She wanted to run until she got lost, until she was as far away as she could possibly get, until she was so exhausted she couldn't move anymore. At a controlled pace she couldn't explain, she turned down a corridor, descended a staircase, ducked behind a tapestry, and turned again down another corridor. With every step she took, that controlled pace slipped farther away, and her steps came faster, and faster, until she was running frantically. The colorful blur of the paintings as she passed reflected the turmoil of her own jumbled thoughts, and still she ran. _Too much_. She was overwhelmed with the need for escape, the need to do something to forget. Something drastic, something that she wouldn't do if it were any other day, something to reaffirm her existence. The pounding of her feet on the cold stone floors echoed in the abandoned corridor, and still she ran. _Too much._

Hermione's vision was blurred with tears as the full implications of her predicament set in. _Never again._ She could never go home again. She would never curl up in front of the TV again. She would never hear her parents complain about the Wizarding Sweets she brought home from school again. She would never again open a silver-wrapped box at Christmas, only to find a brand new, top of the line toothbrush.

She couldn't see where she was going; the tears that had filled her eyes refused to pour down her cheeks, but she couldn't stop running. She'd never see her mother smile blankly as Hermione tried to explain the finer points of a Leg-Locker jinx. She'd never hear her father congratulate her grades-

Her thoughts all went silent for a few blessed seconds when she ran into something. All her forward momentum was stopped, and she was knocked back. Had she actually run into a wall? Or, perhaps, a wayward suit of armor? Sniffling, Hermione Griswald- no, Hermione _Granger_ wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes, and looked up into Malfoy's smirking face. _Oh dear._

The moment he left Snape's classroom, Draco felt a heavy weight fall upon his shoulders. His mother and father had made a very strict request. Befriend Miss Griswald. Sounded simple enough, didn't it? Unfortunately, 'Miss Griswald' was one and the same with Hermione Granger, the insufferable know-it-all he had alternately tormented and lusted after at every given opportunity. She may have led others to believe that his well-aimed barbs didn't puncture her thick skin (_thick head, more like­_), but he knew better. As sensitive as he was to hiding his own emotion, he could easily read hers. The hurt in her eyes had always jumped out at him; whenever he saw that wounded look, he wanted to kick himself squarely in the shin. Then, of course, he wanted to _Avada_ himself for feeling even the slightest twinge of a guilt. She was a Mudblood, he a pureblood. It's what he did!

He'd long ago given up wondering why he felt so guilty about teasing her. Indeed, the answer was plain as day... but he'd gouge out his own eyes with a fork before admitting it, even (especially) to himself. Snotty, bratty, stuck-up Gryffindor Granger. Once upon a time, her attitude had pissed him off, and he'd become obsessed with finding a way to bring her down a peg or two from her self-righteous perch, despite the fact that she attracted him so. He didn't know when that had changed, but it was brought screaming to his attention that day in the library. That was even before this shocking new development. Now that he knew that her blood was as pure as his...

His options spread out in front of him, sparkling roads of opportunity that just begged to be traveled. Wasn't this what he had wanted from the very beginning? Hermione Granger, know-it-all that she may be, was also charming, witty, and (_just say it_) gorgeous. Not in the traditional sense, no; her hair was too bushy, her eyes too large, her lips too thick, but surprisingly, all of those attributes that would have been ugly on their own combined to make a very intriguing face, and all that he'd wanted from the first time he met her was the chance to pursue her.

If he wanted her, now was the perfect time to swoop her up! _A Malfoy never swoops,_ he sneered down at the floor. _I don't have a bloody Gryffindor complex. Leave the white knight business and swooping the lady off her feet to them. _ But if that was the case, what did he, Draco Malfoy, have to offer her? Or, rather, what traits could he exploit and use to his advantage?

_I'm a Malfoy. I have charm, I have wit, I have heaps and heaps of gold... and this situation couldn't get any better._

He roamed the dungeon corridors for an hour, turning his options over in his mind, coming into contact with no one save a ghost or two, which disappeared through the wall as quickly and eerily as they came. Had he been paying more attention, he would have clearly heard the pounding of desperate feet; so lost was he in his own musings that the sound faded unnoticed into the background. In fact, he didn't notice anything until a speeding object connected solidly with his chest. He looked down, and came face to face with the object of his obsession. Enter malicious smirk.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Granger, off all on her own." She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he realized with a sinking feeling that she was crying. Not just 'Oh, sob, I got a measly 98 on my Potions final', but full out 'My parents just died because I messed with the settings on the Floo and now I'm going to throw myself off the nearest cliff' crying. She sniffled a little, eyes focusing sharply on him, before her pained expression hardened a tiny bit. More tears leaked from her puffy eyes to fall gracelessly down her cheeks, and Draco felt something small somewhere inside him twinge with compassion. Hard-arsed prat that he might be, he truly couldn't handle the sight of a female in pain. If it were someone he didn't know, he'd pity them. _Poor useless wretches, unable to hide their weaknesses._ When it was a friend, he sympathized with them. _I'm sorry you feel so horribly. Who do I have to kill?_ But this... this was Granger. Not a friend; six years of torture had made damn sure of that, but not really an enemy either, if the other day in the library was anything to go by. When Granger cried, a small part of him howled in pain. _Nothing in the world should be able to bring her to tears, save for me._ That small part of him demanded that he hunt down the cause of her pain, and make it suffer. He quickly drowned that part of him in a metaphorical vat of acid, and forced himself into instant snark-mode. "And crying, too! Tsk tsk, Granger. What would your faithful lapdogs say if they could see you now?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," the bushy-haired brunette tried to growl through her tears. The words came out as more of a sobbing hiccup than she intended, and that just served to make her angry. That was good. Angry Granger was much easier to deal with than Sad Granger. Angry Granger didn't make him want to scoop her into his arms and mutter useless soothing words, or anything else remotely uncharacteristic. Angry Granger was Normal Granger.

"Is that the best you can come up with? Now, I shouldn't expect much better out of you. I suspect you focus all of your energy into simply holding up your head. All that bushy hair must make it ever-so-hard to concentrate, eh?"

"I don't know. You could try asking your father; I'm sure he knows plenty about hair distractions. Half of your gold must be set aside for hair care products! I suppose they would have shorn it all off, though, wouldn't they?" She straightened, and looked him squarely in the eye, brushing leftover tears from her cheeks. She wouldn't say it... would she? "I mean, after all, he _is _in prison."

Red overtook his vision; how dare she make such remarks about his father? He wouldn't stand for it! _Now, Draco, Malfoy's do not hit women,_ he could hear his father's voice sneer. _It's not near as demeaning as they deserve. _ Taking a deep breath, he calmed the rage that was building in him to sneer coldly at her. Deciding to change the subject, he blatantly raked his eyes over her, letting them rest in extremely inappropriate places. "Why are you crying, Granger? Upset because not even your little nancy Golden Boys will have you? She flinched, and he smirked again. He found a sore spot! File that away for later use...

"No!" She shouted, then huffed, crossing her arms tightly in front of her. "As if it's any of your business anyway. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have places I need to be." She made to squeeze past him, but his hand shot out, gripped her arm, and turned her to face him.

"I don't understand why they don't see what's right in front of them," he murmured, reaching two fingers up to tug at a wayward brown curl. Her eyes widened as he came just a little closer before she pulled away entirely, glaring at him in disgust. _Merlin, you ponce!_ He thought to himself, disgusted enough for both of them at his actions. _ Why not just fall to your knees and confess your undying love for her!_ Hermione growled deep in her throat, shocking him. It was not a sound he expected to hear from perfect little Granger. He watched as her chest moved up and down, a testament to the reaction he had caused, and quite suddenly he realized just how attractive she truly was. The lust pounded into him, wave after wave, growing stronger with each passing second. Neither knew how long they stood there, just staring at each other, but Hermione must have felt the change in mood, because she tried once again to run away.

She didn't know when the atmosphere about them changed. Instead of looking into his angry eyes, she found herself wishing she could taste him. Just there, below his ear. Or maybe there, where the blood pumped so strongly through is body, it made the vein in his neck pulse. She stared hungrily at him, not noticing that he was mirroring her actions. She was no stranger to desire, and hadn't she just been wishing for something drastic to do? Nothing could be more drastic than seducing the un-seducible Slytherin Prince... No. She couldn't think like that. That was just _too _much, too drastic. Firm in her newfound resolve, she moved once again to pass him.

Without warning, Hermione found herself shoved up against the wall, hard. Draco's left hand pinned her wrists tightly to the stone above her head, and his other hand held her chin immobile. His right knee rested on the stone beside her, effectively trapping her in the corner. He moved like a cat! Graceful and silent. _Or a snake,_ her mind whispered, not bothering to disguise her admiration. _Smooth and stealthy, quick to strike. If that's how he moves, just imagine how he _feels.

Unable to look anywhere else, her widened chocolate eyes locked onto his storm cloud grey orbs. The ice that was usually present had long since melted, leaving behind only fire, and even though she knew she should be afraid, Hermione couldn't help but feel the tight curl of desire in her abdomen. She watched as Draco's eyes combed over her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a certain degree of hunger in his gaze. _He wants you, Hermione. Look at his eyes. Look at the way he's looking at you. The way he has you pinned against the wall..._ But another voice made itself known in that instant. When she would have thrown caution to the wind, the detestable voice of Reason ventured from its hidey hole. _Why is he doing this? Do you really think he wants you? Isn't this the same Draco Malfoy who called you a Mudblood? The same one who has prayed for your death?_

"Take your hands off me, Malfoy," she ground out between clenched teeth, experimentally trying to move her head. She strained and strained, but his grip never faltered.

"And why, pray tell, would I want to do that?" He murmured seductively, moving his mouth closer to her ear. She could feel his breath, hot and moist, on her earlobe. She shivered. "Are you scared?"

"Of you?" She scoffed, trying to keep the quiver from her voice. Why was she reacting to him like this? It was like her body didn't understand who he was, what he was trying to do. "Only in your wildest dreams, Ferret Boy. I just figured you'd want to let me go before my Mudblood diseases taint your flawless skin," she spat. Mudblood. Hah! If only he knew. _If he knew, do you think he'd still treat you this way? If this is how he treats you as a Mudblood, are you sure you'd _want_ it to change?_ Her thoughts were cut off as he laughed softly. The low sound drifted over her skin like satin, leaving a trail of goose bumps along her arm and tingles down her spine.

"I'll just have to make sure to wash nice and long when I'm done with you, then, won't I?"

_Was that meant to have a double meaning?_ For the first time since she'd met the snarky blond, Hermione felt a twinge of real fear flow through her. She was so far away from her friends, the teachers... away from anyone who could help if she should need it. She held her breath, then shook herself. Was she really that afraid of Malfoy? She'd never feared him before; why start now?

"What are you going to do? Kill me?" She snorted, glancing around. "Come on. Don't you think someone might notice that I'm gone?"

"They haven't noticed so far, have they?" He asked quietly, focusing intently on her. Hermione scoffed for a minute, but realized with a jolt that he was absolutely right. It had been hours since she'd been in class; hours since she'd seen any of her friends or fellow students. After Potions, she'd gone to the library, then straight to Dumbledore... and had been there until now. Hadn't anyone questioned her absence? Weren't they worried about her? Dear Merlin, Malfoy could do anything to her, and no one would know until class tomorrow. Not even the boys would question her whereabouts; it was common knowledge that Madam Pince had given her an extra key to the library, for those days that her studies ran late. They'd just assume she was lost in one of her books, and no one would pay any mind.

"At any rate," Malfoy startled her by speaking again, "I don't plan to kill you." Leaning forward, he sniffed hair deeply, not even attempting to disguise the action. Hermione felt color rise to her cheeks, but she kept her gaze steady. That is, until he finished his sentence. "Yet. You know what they say; the only thing as fun as killing a Mudblood is fucking them. Either is fine, just as long as you make them... scream." On this last word, he licked his lips seductively. Her eyes widened. _He couldn't mean to... No. Oh no. This could be very bad._ She was supposed to be seducing _him_, not the other way around.

His face had taken on an animalistic quality; his trademark smirk was now threaded with a sort of smug satisfaction. He looked like a predator that had just cornered his prey; now, he was just playing with her until he got bored, and snapped her neck. Then the realization dawned. This was it! She had the right idea earlier; this was the drastic action she'd begged for. It wasn't _too_ drastic. That's what the old Hermione would have said. Hermione Granger. Hermione _Griswald_, however, thought that seducing her school nemesis sounded like _fun._

As her point of view shifted, Hermione looked at Draco Malfoy in an entirely new light. She was sure he didn't notice the way her eyes hungrily drank in the angles and planes of his aristocratic face, nor the way she almost sighed in satisfaction. This _would_ happen; she'd make damn sure of it.

A/N: You guys need to let me know what you think. How was my grammar and stuff? The style itself? Oh, and most importantly; do you guys want a steamy sex scene next update, or should I just allude to what happens in the bedroom and continue on with the very interesting (but not quite as hot) plot? Review and let me know; that pretty little button is just begging you to click it. Can't you hear it?

Tiny Little Go Button: Click me!

See? Give it what it wants!


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N:** Well, here we go. I FOUND THE DISK WITH MY BACKUP COPIES! PARTY ON! Unfortunately, this whole sex scene thing? Not as steamy as I would have hoped.I guess I'm just not as good at writing the sex stuff. Oh well. I think the majority of the chapter makes up for that.So, back by popular demand, it is Bloodlines!Continue, gentle readers, into the realm of the mystical, and remember always ... I lay claim to nothing but the Griswalds! Huzzah!

**Chapter Seven**

"I don't understand how you do this to me," he said, more to himself than her as he watched the fear leave her eyes. In its place was a flame of desire; reflected, he supposed, from his own eyes. Draco gripped her chin tighter as she struggled to move, immediately loosening his hold when her struggles ceased. He leaned even closer to her face, sandwiching her between his lean body and the cold stone wall, enjoying the sensation of her warmth so close. "I hate you," he sneered, still whispering in her ear. She nodded slightly in response, the only motion allowed by his grip, and Draco felt her heartbeat accelerate. "I shouldn't feel this way about you," he continued, amused when she shook her head slightly, as though agreeing with him. "But I do." His free hand slammed against the wall, causing Hermione to flinch as he asked, "Why!"

He was pressing against her in the most sensitive of places, and Merlin help her, she loved it. Something about the primitive ruthlessness of Malfoy's actions spoke to her body in a way that tenderness never had. Hermione could feel the evidence of his seemingly reluctant arousal pressing against her belly as he spoke into her ear. Spoke? It was more like _growled_; a rumbling that started deep in his chest, and shot straight to her womb. She wriggled about a bit, trying to escape (trying to rub against him; she thrilled at the friction) and almost laughed as his erection twitched instinctively into her.

Draco felt her squirm beneath him, and almost blushed as he felt his cock twitch. _What am I doing? Why on Merlin's green Earth do I feel this way? **Is she sniffing me? **_She was! Hermione Granger, virgin Mudblood (_but she's not a Mudblood, is she?), _was drawing in the scent of his expensive cologne like she couldn't get enough. It wasn't until that moment that he realized that this was actually going somewhere. He couldn't just trap her like this and not satisfy that niggling desire he'd harbored for so long. He took a small comfort in realizing that anything he _did _do would be enjoyed, or even welcomed. Experimentally, he lowered his lips to the area where her neck met her shoulder and licked along the silky-smooth skin there.

He expected to be kneed, head butted, slapped (despite that fact that he held both the witch's hands captive in his own). He did not expect the moan that emerged from the woman pinned against him. He pulled away, just enough to look at her, and found that her eyes were closed tightly, and her lips were slightly parted. Her breathing pace had increased, and so encouraged, he tried again. This time, he took the tip of his tongue and traced the outer shell of Hermione's ear. When she whimpered, he thrust his tongue inside.

Hermione moaned at the sensations Malfoy was causing and savored the feel of his hot tongue inside her ear. She pressed her hips closer to his, sighing in pleasure when his breath hitched. As his tongue continued its trek across her neck and the exposed flesh of her shoulder, she lifted her right leg, and slowly curled it around his. That leg rose further, as if it had a mind of its own, until it was locked tightly around his knee, crushing their pelvises together. In response, the hand holding her face withdrew, opting instead to lightly trace the contours of her jaw. His hands were smooth and soft, precisely what she'd expected from the aristocratic wizard. Sighing in content, Hermione focused on the pale finger that was ghosting across her lips. _My hands may be out of commission, but that doesn't mean I can't make him squirm_. In a quick, fluid motion, she closed her lips over the tip of Malfoy's finger and sucked hard. She would have grinned in delight when his eyes briefly rolled back into his head, but she was much too busy.

"Good Merlin, Granger." Draco moaned as the petite brunette swirled her tongue around his finger. If he didn't know better, he'd say she'd had plenty of practice. _If she keeps this up, she'd better be damn willing to go all the way. I'm not sure I can stop._

Reluctantly, he released her hands and pulled away. Hermione whimpered in loss, and he'd be damned if he didn't return the sentiment. The absence of warmth beside him was lamentable, but he had to be sure that she wanted this. Say what you would about the Dragon of the Malfoy clan; no one could deny that he's always a gentleman to prospective lovers. It was how he was raised. The principle had been beaten into him since birth; literally. He couldn't start something unstoppable if there was even the slightest chance she'd regret things come morning. _Oh Merlin. Just this morning, I was convinced that she was nothing but a dirty Mudblood. Then Mother's letter came..._ In the space of an hour, he'd gone from hating her and her dirty blood with a passion to craving and lusting after her, just as passionately.

Although, if he was entirely truthful with himself (which he normally avoided at all costs), he'd wanted her just this way even before finding out her _true _lineage. Well, maybe not exactly... his eleven year old self didn't even know how to _spell_ what he wanted to do with the delectable treat in front of him. Curiously, he gazed at her. She did seem completely human, with her hair mussed in an extremely attractive fashion, cheeks flushed prettily, robes all askew. Indeed, she looked like a modern interpretation of Aphrodite herself. How could he have possibly missed it before? _Listen to me, waxing all poetic. Could it be that this is more than just reluctant attraction? Could I maybe , oh, I don't know, be in lo-_

He killed the thought before it could even completely form. Of course he wasn't in _love_ with Hermione. With Granger. Griswald. So what if her passion intrigued him? Did it really matter that her intelligence far outshone every other student in the school? Of course her ability to find the good in every person didn't attract him in any way! So, logically, it was ludicrous to think that he could actually _love _her.

His attention was torn from his intentions when the girl in question let out a muffled sniffle.

She couldn't help it! He'd been so close, and she'd been so comfortable with her decision... then he had whispered something to her and pulled away. Was she really that hideous? Even overwhelmed with passion, did her blood mean so much? She wasn't even really muggleborn! Of course, Hermione couldn't expect Malfoy to know that; she'd only just found out herself.

All these thoughts ran through her mind at the speed of light as she watched him watch her. Years of classes attended together afforded her the knowledge to determine the exact point he went introspective; his eyes seemed to be out of focus, and his brow had furrowed into emotion, never before seen in public. Hermione squirmed as Malfoy's gaze was once again centered on her, and she locked eyes with him. _Oh, those eyes. Pools of molten silver, and just underneath the surface lay foreign emotions, begging to be deciphered. _Those were eyes she could spend forever learning; eyes so unlike any she'd ever seen before. Ron wore his heart on his sleeve; always had, she suspected. Even Harry, who had seen and survived so much in his 16 years, was easy to read. Malfoy, however... he was a mystery, an enigma. It would take months or even years to uncover all the quirks and nuances that made up Draco Malfoy.

Not that she wanted to. Oh no, nope, no way, nuh huh. He was means to an end, nothing more, nothing less. _Are you sure?_ asked a small voice inside her head. _Are you sure that you're only in it for the sex? Is that truly all you want? _Sure, he had a fertile mind and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. So did she. Yes, his ability to keep calm even in the most dire of situations was something to admire. That didn't necessarily mean she was in lo- No. Absolutely not. She wouldn't even think about it. _Focus on his body, Hermione. Dredge all these non-lust-related thoughts from your system. You felt his abs, his legs. Firm, lean and wiry, and delightfully packed. _

"Decide that was enough, eh?" She challenged, purposely ignoring the fact that her voice was no more than a whisper. "Finally remembered whom you're with?"

Draco was confused. Completely, utterly confused. She was accusing him; of what, exactly? "I never-" His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat, and started over, that one hand finding his hair again. "I never said that." He lifted the corner of his mouth, the closest he'd ever come to a smile in her presence. "I just wanted to make sure-" _Why don't you just walk away, Draco? You've started the process. You're far away enough now that you should just be able to turn, and walk away. Why won't you? _"That this is what you want," he finished. _This _is_ what I want, _the little voice inside his head screamed, and with a jolt, Draco realized it was right. He didn't want to just turn around and walk away. Not when he was so close to having (_her)_ something no one else had ever had. _Keep telling yourself that, Dragon. You're delusional. You wouldn't care if a thousand other guys had tasted her; her innocence has nothing to do with your desire for her. Face it. You want her this way because, in your mind, you've already claimed her as yours. _

"I asked you a question, Granger," he growled, frustrated with the running dialogue in his mind. He heard her whisper something quietly, and figuring it for an insult, stepped away. "Go on, Granger. Say it just a little louder." His sneer was back.

Hermione blushed down at the floor, uncomfortable knowing that Malfoy had her in such a position. Bravely, she took a step forward, and raised her eyes until their gazes locked. "Call me Hermione. Please," she added, reaching two fingers out and barely caressing the sleeve of his robe. "That way I can at least _pretend_ you don't hate me." This was followed by a brief smile, and she came even closer, until they were toe to toe, and his molten eyes were boring into hers. Even if she'd had doubts before (she hadn't), they would have flown out the window, chased away by the desire she saw rolling through his gaze.

"Hermione..." he whispered as he looked down at her. She thought her name would sound funny from the mouth of the Slytherin Prince, but it didn't. It thrilled her to hear her name spoken in his cultured accent, instead of the impersonal 'Granger' or, even worse, the ever-dreaded 'Mudblood'. Her heart skipped a beat as he said it again, this time with an air of breathlessness as her hands ghosted lightly across his robed shoulder blades. The fabric was cool beneath her fingers, but she could still feel the heat that radiated from his body like a human furnace.

"Come on," he said suddenly, running one perfectly manicured hand down her arm to twine his fingers with hers. He turned to travel down the hall before being jerked almost to the ground because Hermione refused to budge.

"What do you think you are doing?" She hissed, trying unsuccessfully to retrieve her captured hand. She may be under the influence of a hormone-induced lust-haze, but that didn't mean she was going to let the (undeniably attractive) blond in front of her to drag her around as though she were some common whore. Despite her loss of sanity, she still kept a firm hold of her pride.

_Sure_, spoke the irritating, infuriating voice that awash incessantly present in her mind. _You have your pride. That's precisely why you're fraternizing with the enemy in the first place! Because you have your 'pride'._

The bushy-haired brunette took a brief moment to imagine the voice in her head squealing in pain as she stabbed it repeatedly with a fork before shifting her hostility back to Draco. "Unhand me this _instant, _Malfoy, or I'll hex you into next year!"

"It's after midnight, Granger." Draco turned to face her, speaking slowly as though addressing a small, petulant child. "If we get caught outside of our Dormitories, we'll be given detention." Before she could protest again, he strode purposefully down the corridor. This time, she followed, and he almost smiled. Granger was willingly following him! He snickered to himself. She, Hermione Granger, Queen of Virgins, was following him (willingly, he might add) to the dungeons. All the other Slytherins would be asleep by now, he was sure, and the best place to find solitude in this bloody school (besides the library of course) was his own dorm. Luckily, he was a prefect, and therefore had a room to himself. As long as he could smuggle the Gryffindor girl into the commons undetected, he was sure they would be uninterrupted for the remainder of the night.

"Are... are we going to the dungeons?" Hermione whispered, feeling the air around them grow cooler. She thought she felt it grow gloomier as well, but that was probably just her imagination. _I hope_. Her captor gave no reply, so she did the only thing she could; she continued to follow him. He wasn't holding her captive; she was captured by only her own emotions, and she couldn't even think of leaving him now. Not when her blood was pumping; not when he'd managed to subdue her thoughts; not when he'd saved her.

Soon enough, they came to the portrait that led to the Slytherin common room. Malfoy whispered the password, and stuck his head inside for a quick look. The moment he knew the coast was clear, he hauled her in after him and climbed the stairs that led to his private room.

The door no more than closed behind them than he pulled her body to his and pressed himself against her warmth. His teeth nipped every inch of uncovered skin on her body; her wrists and neck were soon covered with small red bite marks. Surprisingly, Hermione matched him move for move with ease that Draco didn't expect, especially not from her. She said nothing, just continued allowing her hands to roam his still-cloaked body.

Draco's hands traveled up her arms to her shoulders, and he threw off her cloak and helped her peel off her blouse while she made quick work of his trousers, backing up until the backs of her legs bumped against the large, firm mattress. Taking the upper hand, Draco pushed the brunette back, laying her on his fluffy silver pillows, then crawled up the bed to lay by her side, one leg thrown over hers, pelvis resting in the junction of her thighs. Hermione watched Draco's smooth hands glide softly across her tummy. She was by no means athletic, so the flesh he came into contact with wasn't as firm as she would have liked, and she blushed under his scrutinizing gaze.

They were both completely silent as Draco removed his own cloak, but as he slid his trousers the rest of the way down his hips, the certainty of Hermione's situation finally hit her. _Why am I doing this?_ She didn't know she said it aloud until the faint smirk on Draco's face was replaced with a frown, and he pulled away.

Upon hearing those words, Draco abruptly stopped what he was doing. When the woman in his bed peered up at him from under long brown lashes, he felt heat shoot straight to his groin. He groaned and pulled away, stopping at the edge of the mattress, where he sat facing away from her.

"Why did you stop?" Hermione's voice was breathy as she posed the question. Crawling over to where he was sitting, she grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, exposing even more smooth pale flesh. _This man is truly beautiful_. Despite his normal attitude, the lioness couldn't deny that one simple fact. Years of Quidditch afforded him well-toned muscles, and his fair complexion was only enhanced by the firm contours. On a whim, she ran her nails lightly up his back, reveling in his shiver; then, she raked them swiftly back down, delighting in his hiss of pain. However, when she leaned around to look at him (pressing her barely covered breasts against his back), his face was emotionless.

"You don't want this," he stated simply. She waited for him to move away, but when he did not, she moved closer. Hermione couldn't tell if he wanted her to disagree, to tell him that she most certainly _did_ want this, or if he was just looking for an escape himself. Vowing to save rational thought for later, she curled around his side; her thighs resting behind him, her head laying in his lap, and looked up at him.

"Draco," She said calmly, ignoring the way his hardness tickled her ear, "I don't like you. I hardly know you! And I know without a doubt that you don't like me." At this, he snorted, but Hermione ignored him and continued. "Don't you think it's natural that I should wonder about our sanity?" When he made no motion to answer, she moved up his bare chest, nipping hard enough to make it hurt, then using her tongue to soothe away the pain. She continued to do so until her chocolate eyes were even with his mercury ones. "I'm in a bad way, Draco, but look." She grasped his had, guided to her panty-covered core, and pressed him against herself, moaning a little at the sensation. Draco's eyes closed as his fingers came into contact with her heat, and he could feel the moisture seeping through her simple cotton knickers. "It's no lie that I need this right now. I _want_ it." Her own hand moved to his crotch, and she gently stroked the bulge concealed there. "It's obvious that you do, too. Forget blood right now, Draco. Forget hatred. Use me to forget everything." With one swift motion, Hermione had straddled him, and undulated her hips, making them both quiver. As he lifted his lips to her neck, he almost missed her whispered plea; "_Help me to forget._"

_Oh, I'll help you_, he vowed silently. Without warning, he flipped her over so she was pinned beneath him. He grinned down at her and reached to flick open the clasp of her bra (thank Merlin it was one of those that clasped in the front!). Hermione sighed when her breasts came into contact with the cool air; that sensation didn't last long, for soon thereafter, the rosy tips were engulfed in Draco's hot mouth. She moaned at his ministrations, and it wasn't very long until they had both shed the last vestiges of clothing and lay intertwined and writhing on the satin bed sheets.

"Now, Draco… please…" She couldn't take the heat any longer; it was eating her alive, burning her from the inside out… she couldn't come up with enough clichés to accurately describe the heat that was consuming her. She had _never_ felt like this before. Even with her previous lover, she'd never felt such recklessness, such abandon. Shocked, Hermione realized that she would beg and plead, she would do anything, just as long as Draco would never stop touching her.

He knew how close she was. Her body was practically screaming her need out to him, but he refused to end it just yet. Instead, he smiled devilishly and moved down her body. His tongue caressed her scorching flesh, and he thrilled with her response. With a gentle nudge, Draco parted Hermione's knees and knelt between them.

Hermione's head shot up when she felt hot breath on her core. Draco was nibbling gently at the soft flesh of her inner thigh, and she gasped out loud. The noise caused him to glance up, and their eyes met. "You don't have to do this, Draco…"she whispered breathily. He just nodded, and went back to his business. Her hands blindly grasped his head when she felt his tongue caress her moist folds. If she thought the sensations were different before, then she had just died, and gone to heaven. Draco's tongue moved between her legs in measured licks and laps; she could only hold on for the ride.

He loved the taste of her. He could have feasted for hours, and never asked for anything more. She was sweet and musky, and her moans turned him on more than he believed possible. He could tell she was approaching her peak, her moans had turned into breathless whimpers. Slowly, gently, he moved back up her body, and sank into her molten depths. His sigh echoed her own and slowly, they writhed and gyrated their way to oblivion. When the crests of pleasure finally broke, Hermione sunk her small teeth hard into Draco's shoulder. He groaned in response and pushed deep inside her one last time.

Sated for the present, they separated. Hermione rolled over, and obediently Draco spooned up behind her, wrapped one arm firmly around her waist, and fell fast asleep. His breath evened out, and when Hermione knew he was deep in slumber, she slipped from his embrace, and began dressing in the chilly chamber. Clothes all properly in place, she took a moment to observe the man lying haphazardly across the bed. His hair was a mess, his face shiny with sweat, and he looked more at peace than she'd ever seen him before. She mused for a moment over their actions, and recalling the feeling of him inside her, found it in herself to write him a quick note on a scrap piece of parchment. It wasn't until after she left that she realized that, with all the acts they had just completed, their lips had not once met in a kiss. And only when he awoke would Draco realize that Hermione Griswald, _his_ Hermione, wasn't a virgin.

**_A/N_: **Ok, I guessI just have to ask... what did you think? Cringes and waits for rotten tomatoes. But hey! Props on me! Two chapters in two days! I deserve cookies, lol.

Quick Poll: Who out there is a Fooly Cooly fan? My best friend in the whole world got me to sit down and watch it; that show rocks!

Ok, how 'bout all y'all (I really just said that, didn't I?) that are Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans? Or, more specifically, Spike/William the Bloody fans? Can I hear a big hell yeah? Or Possibly just a 'Bloody Hell'? Lol. press the pretty button folks. And I'm still looking for cute lil oneliners! They might not appear in the chapter directly after you send them in, but I'll use them!


	9. Chapter Eight

Draco stretched lethargically, grinning as he yawned and came slowly back to consciousness. As memories of the night before passed through his mind, his grin widened. _What a way to rebel!_ But was it really rebellion, if she'd been pureblood all along? Strangely enough, not even that grim thought sobered his enthusiastic mood, and he shook his head to clear it. With that out of the way, he turned to face his brown-haired beauty of a bed-partner… and was met with cold sheets and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Like a shot, he was out of bed, quickly covering his still-nude body with a pair of soft black trousers from his trunk. As he threw on a black button-up shirt, he scanned the room for some sign that Hermione had, in fact, been with him the night before. _Aha!_ There on the nightstand was a tiny bit of parchment he was sure hadn't been there before. Last pearl button fitted neatly through the tiny button-hole, Draco was free to move across the room to the small paper.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the note, and he cursed himself. She was jut a bird! Nothing to get over-excited about… just a convenient lay, that's all. _A bloody fantastic lay, mate. Who knew little Hermione was so… experienced?_ He steeled himself, and snatched the parchment off the oaken table. Instead of the loopy, flowery handwriting he had grown accustomed to with his other partners, the script was small and neat. A single word was written daintily on the paper. _Thanks_.

What? That was it? He'd just had one of the best nights (_of his life_) of sex, and all she could say when she left before morning was a bloody _THANKS_? Groaning, he ruffled his hair, simultaneously releasing his frustration and achieving the sought-after bed head look. This had only one solution. He had to talk to her. Had to get her alone and ask her- ask her what, exactly? _Did you enjoy yourself? What made you decide to have sex with me? Who took your virginity? Why weren't you there when I woke up?_ And all that would go over _so _well.

He left the Slytherin common room with barely a word to Blaise, who was sitting comfortably in a green velvet chair, smirking at Draco's retreating form. The blond wizard may have thought he had been discreet, but half the House had heard the tell-tale noises coming from Malfoy's private room the night before; there was a pool going on just whom the Slytherin Prince had coerced into bed. Although Blaise himself took no part in such uncouth practices, he was confident that he alone knew whom the young man had bedded. Truthfully, the other Slytherin thought that Draco had gotten in over his head this time. It would be good for him.

Draco's shoes, normally loud against the hard floor, made nary a sound as he stalked up to the Transfiguration hallway. Gryffindors had this class first today, so he was guaranteed to come across his runaway. Luckily, he didn't have class until later, so he was free to wait as long as it took. He leaned against the wall next to the door, and waited patiently, running his thoughts over and over in his mind, trying to decipher just what he would say to her. _Draco, you're losing your touch! Chasing after a bird the day after.. what has become of you?_ He shook the irritating voice from his mind, and again focused on his intent. Soon thereafter, a trickle of students filtered from the room; first one, then two, then small groups of threes and fours escaped the clutches of the tyrannous Transfiguration teacher into the bliss of free time, until Draco suspected that only the Golden Trio themselves remained in the room. His toe set to tapping as his carefully schooled patience finally began to wane. Then, he heard professor McGonagall's voice; "Miss Granger, would you stay for a moment?"

"Go on, I'll catch up" Hermione's voice drifted out into the hallway. Despite the fact that she was obviously addressing her trolls, the timbre of her voice washed over him in a wave of sensual memories._ (She writhed beneath him, moaning loudly as his hands caressed her tender flesh)_. Jealousy welled within Draco's breast, quickly replaced with trepidation as Potter and Weasley left the room and spotted him.

"Malfoy." Potter's voice was no more than a growl; his eyes narrowed and for a moment, fear surfaced in Draco's mind. _How much do they know? How much did she tell them? Play it cool for now, don't give up any potentially valuable information until you can use it to your advantage._

Draco schooled his features into their practiced smirk, and acknowledged the boys with contempt. "Potty. Weaselbee."

"What are you doing here, ferret?" Weasley grumbled, subtly shifting to take a more aggressive stance. Draco did not miss this, and silently come ended the red-head's alert state. It was a threat, he knew, and assumed that his earlier question of their knowledge had been answered.

"I don't know what business it is of yours, but if you must know.." he let the thought hang, making a show of examining his perfectly manicured fingernails, and proceeded to dispose of a tiny piece of lint that had clutched desperately to the fibers of his cloak, basking in the impatience that flitted across the two numbskulls' faces.

"Well?" Potter finally spat. The blond chuckled, a low, cold sound, and continued, his voice layered in malice. "I'm just here to speak with Professor – Hermione!"

"Huh?" The two goons across from him traded confused looks before turning back to Draco. "Professor – Oh!" they turned again to see that Hermione had indeed emerged from the classroom; the troubled look on her face quickly transformed to shock and finally, fury.

"Hermione! Come on, we'll be late to Care of Magical Creatures!" Potter said urgently. His hand wrapped firmly around her elbow, and he tried to nudge her along with him. _Stupid twit._ "I'll be there in a moment," the brunette replied, fiery brown eyes transfixed on Draco's cool metal ones.

"We're not leaving you alone with the Ferret," Weasley whined, glancing back and forth between his best friend and Draco. "You might end up with rabies."

Draco paid no attention to the insult. He was entirely too wrapped up in memories. Her luscious lips, right now pursed in anger, had felt so good against the flesh of his neck. Those eyes, staring flaming holes through him at this very moment, had widened as he had nibbled the tender skin of her collarbone. Those petite, slender hands, now clenched in frustration, had felt so good wrapped around his-

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

000000

"Miss Granger, would you stay for a moment?" Hermione froze at the stern tone her Professor's voce had taken. She swallowed audibly, then nodded feebly at the two boys who stood next to her, trying hard to look reassuring.

"Go on, I'll catch up." When the boys finally left the room, Hermione quietly approached the table at the head of the class, from which Professor McGonagall's stern eyes were watching her expectantly. The resounding thud of the oaken slab slamming shut made the young witch wince, as though it were a premonition.

Professor McGonagall slowly rose from her seat, crossing her frail-looking arms over her chest in a foreboding manner. "Miss Granger, do not think for a moment that your actions last night went unnoticed. The portraits in the hall were happy to inform me of your late return to your dormitory. It is my duty as your Head of House to assign your punishment."

Hermione let out a small gasp; her cheeks reddened in embarrassment as she remembered just why she had returned so late. The professor's penetrating gaze made her feel as though the older woman were reading her mind, and that only made the young witch's face hotter. She lowered her eyes in shame, stuttering out a half-formed apology.

"However," the professor elegantly raised one hand, effectively silencing the girl, "the Headmaster has informed me of your unique situation, and your atonement will vary accordingly. I do believe that a one-hour detention with Professor Flitwick shall deter any future rule breaking, don't you agree?"

Hermione glanced up at her teacher, gratitude shining in her eyes. _Thank Merlin. _"Yes, Professor." She turned to the door, anxious to escape before the older woman changed her mind, but was halted by McGonagall once again.

"Please don't leave yet, Miss Granger. There is something else I would like to discuss with you." Hermione nodded reluctantly, returning to the chair across the desk from her teacher. "Have you told Misters Potter and Weasley about your… situation?"

The brunette shook her head, aghast at the possibility. _Why on EARTH would I tell Ron and Harry about … that?_

"I only ask because I know that, starting tomorrow, you become Miss Griswald to all of the staff. I'm sure that, aside from wanting to hear the news from you as opposed to someone else, they could help you through this transition."

Apparently, McGonagall was talking about her parentage, not her actions the night previous. What a relief. _But tomorrow? So soon? I've only just found out myself!_ "I understand, Professor," she murmured quietly, although she really didn't. She really didn't understand at all.

"Good." The normally stern Professor gave Hermione a genuine, albeit small, smile as the young witch rose from her chair and made her way to the door. "You know," continued the professor, "if you ever need to speak to someone…"

Hermione tried to return the smile, but found that she could not. Instead, it came across as more of a grimace. That troubled expression stayed with her as she exited the room, just in time to hear her name.

"Hermione!"

The timbre was lower than either of her friends, and as smooth as silk. She glanced around, and instantly fury began to well within her.

Facing away from her were Harry and Ron, but that didn't matter. Both boys' fists were clenched; the cords on Harry's neck were taut and visible, and the back of Ron's neck was the same color as his flaming hair, but that had nothing to do with the white-hot fury and confusion that bubbled to life inside her chest. No; it was the smug blond in front of them that caused her anger to boil. Before she was given a chance to voice that anger, however, Harry turned and grasped her arm above the elbow, hard enough to make her grimace. His hands were coarse and rough, and extremely unwelcome.

"Hermione, come on! We'll be late for Care of Magical Creatures!"

Hermione's eyes sought out Malfoy's, and for a flicker of a second, she was surprised to see a passing wave of uncharacteristic emotion. Panic? Anxiety? _Jealousy?_ "I'll be there in a minute," she managed through clenched teeth.

She had no idea why she was so angry. Malfoy was a pain in the arse, granted, but his appearance throughout the day normally caused disdain and a shred of annoyance, but she hadn't been prepared for the utter rage that enveloped her at the sight of him.

A few seconds passed before she realized that Ron was talking to her. "We're not leaving you alone with the ferret," he was saying. His voice was firm, and he glared at Malfoy before returning his gaze to her. "You may end up with rabies." He too took her arm and together, the boys attempted to drag her down the hallway. _If only you knew_, she thought sardonically, shaking them off before they could take her very far.

"Look, I promise that if he tries to bite me, I'll hex him into oblivion. I'll be fine, all right?" She sighed quietly as she watched them cast furtive glances at each other, as though if by telling her no, she would actually accompany them without a thought. Finally, they seemed to concur, and she was oddly pleased.

"We'll see you in a few." Harry cast one more glance in Malfoy's direction, where the young wizard seemed to be staring off into empty space. The dark-haired boy lowered his voice and whispered, "That one has a few screws loose, 'Mione. If you have any problems…"

"I can handle him, Harry. Don't worry." Harry nodded at her, and after giving Ron a nudge, they set off down the hall.

Finally free of her boys' overprotective nonsense, Hermione was free to focus all of her energy (anger or otherwise) on Malfoy. He didn't come out of his 'trance' until she growled at him. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

He jerked as if struck, then focused his molten mercury eyes on her. 'Mione's stomach did a quick flip-flop, which she quickly quelled. His gaze was intense, as it usually was, but this time it actually made her squirm. She waited a beat before repeating her question. "What do you want?"

"Where were you this morning?" was his unexpected response. _Wait, what? Draco Malfoy, seducer of all things female, is _angry_ that I wasn't there this morning?_ _What a hoot!_

"Did you really think I'd be there when you woke up?" She gave a derisive sort of laugh, mostly to cover up the tiny niggling idea that she should have stayed. The thought nearly made her sick to her stomach, but she found (to her extreme annoyance) that she couldn't meet his eyes. "That would have been fantastic! I would have been woken up by one of your little Slytherin groupies trying to strangle me." She shook her head in incredulity, and with a flourish, turned to escape down the hallway after her friends.

Her grand exit was shattered when she heard footsteps behind her. Draco soon caught up and before she knew it, they were walking down the empty corridor side by side. Hermione was mildly surprised, and more than a little confused when his hand shot out and gripped her firmly by the shoulder, stopping her progress. He forcefully turned her to face him and studied her face closely. After a full minute of contemplation, he spoke only four words. "You weren't a virgin."

**_A/N:_** Huh. What a funny place to just... stop. Are you angry? Tell me all about it, then, by pressing the lovely little review button. I really enjoy hearing what you guys have to say about my stuff, and hey! Still looking for one-liners! First person to review this chapter gets honorable mention in the next, along with a big fat cookie! WooT!


	10. Chapter Nine

A/N: Ok, ok, I know that I said this chapter would be dedicated to my first reviewer for chapter eight, but something else came up. So, this Chapter is dedicated to my best friend Peachy, who might be over twohundred miles away, but remains close to my heart. Luv you, girl!

I've gotten some great oneliners so far.. but I'm still looking for a beta, or maybe just someone to bounce plot ideas off. The next chapter or two is prewritten, but after that... im afraid I'm drawing a blank. So, a little bit of encouragement might help!

Disclaimer: If you don't know by now that nothing is mine... we may have an issue.

Chapter Nine

Of all the things he could have said, this was the furthest from what Hermione had been expecting; her jaw dropped, and the blush that had finally died down sprang back to her cheeks with a vengeance. Her mouth worked for a moment, making her look like a fish out of water, before she finally gathered her wits about her enough to reply.

"Yes. Well, oddly enough, some people actually find me attractive," she spat scornfully. The corners of Malfoy's mouth twitched downward in something that might have been called a frown, if it had stayed for more than a fraction of a second.

"I find you attractive." He said blankly, still holding her arm. He didn't try to fight her when she pulled from his grasp. "Obviously I find you attractive, or else last night-"

_Whoa. Hold the phone. _Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Last night had nothing to do with you. I was in duress, and you were just a convenient-"

"It definitely had _something_ to do with me," he interjected smartly. " 'It takes two to tango', does it not? And I doubt that even _you_ would just fling yourself into bed with any sniveling sod that came across you last night." The blond held his head high, convinced of his superiority, but she would be damned if she allowed him to gloat.

"If you don't deflate your ego just a little," she whispered furiously, "someone else might deign to do it for you, Malfoy." Hermione tried so hard to get in the last word; she had even turned partially away from him, ready to end the conversation.

"Call me Draco." There it was. The infamous Malfoy smirk was back and better than ever. His voice stopped her fleeing as sure as any grip would have, and he crossed his arms over his chest cockily. "I liked it last night, when you called me that." The smirk grew wider. Hermione could feel that unwanted pull of lust low in her stomach when he leaned forward and whispered, "And I _loved_ hearing you scream it."

It took all of her willpower not to haul back and smack him so hard that his smirk would grow legs and run away. Instead, she raised her own lips to his ear, and whispered back clearly; "All you'll have is memories. I'll never make the same mistake."

She was halfway down the corridor before his voice stopped her again (_why wouldn't he just shut _up_ already_). "I know your secret!" he called, and she stumbled over her own shoes from the shock. A good little bookworm like Hermione only has so many secrets, and he already knew she wasn't a virgin. She racked her brain, trying desperately to think of any other secrets the slimy Slytherin could possibly know. _Oh dear. He couldn't know about the time I ran over my hamster with the vacuum… could he?_ No, most definitely not. Unless he was a Legilimens… not even her mother knew about her hamster. _He definitely couldn't know about the time her mother caught her practicing how to kiss with her pillow. _Definitely not that, either. She'd been 8 at the time, and determined to figure out just how those pretty girls on TV did it. There was no way he could know about that; she made sure her mother wouldn't ever tell a soul. _It couldn't possibly be… oh dear. I'm never going to make it to COMC. _

She turned to face him with as much poise as she could muster. Her normally pleasant face was cold and expressionless; her voice was razor sharp. "You have my attention."

Malfoy sneered at her, apparently satisfied for the time being. "have you told your faithful lapdogs yet?"

"Told them what?" Her willpower was being strained from the effort it took to keep her voice smooth and aloof, especially when all she wanted to do was scream out her frustration. _If you expect me to tell them about what happened last night, you have a rude wakening ahead of you._

"You know…" he motioned her closer with one pale hand; reluctantly, Hermione came. She edged closer, closer, closer still, until she had crossed the whole hall, and the hems of their robes swished lightly against each other. She was only a _little_ nervous, being this close to him. The head radiated off his body, and she almost missed his comment as she drew in his scent. "Told them who you are."

_Wait. What? _Part of her wanted to jump for joy; she wasn't alone in her knowledge any longer! Someone else knew who she was, knew that she wasn't completely herself anymore. The other part, the rational part that was the Gryffindor's studious knowledge-seeking part, forced her to be still. She wanted to hear what else he knew. During that brief moment of silence, her eyes grazed the floor, the ceiling, the multi-colored tapestries that hung limply on the walls: anything to avoid the piercing storm-grey eyes that Draco had so expertly trained on her. Those eyes were boring holes into her; she could almost _feel_ them stripping away layers of clothing, and for a moment (_his eyes locked intently on hers as she smiled up at him, before he covered her naked body with his own_), she swore she saw the same memory in his eyes. The moment was broken when she sighed.

"Look, Malfoy-"

"I thought we agreed to call each other by our given names," he interrupted, raising his left eyebrow. They were still close enough that she cold feel the rush of air when he huffed. "Something about 'pretending to like each other'?"

_I don't want to have to pretend! _Her traitorous mind screamed. That, at least, was almost true. Draco Malfoy was the most skilled of lovers; she wouldn't have minded keeping him around for a little longer. It would be so much easier to do if they actually _did _like each other. She could like him; she was sure of it. She had enjoyed his company immensely in the library; if that's what he was like all the time, underneath all those layers of heartless bastard he put on every morning… She shook her head and backed a step away from the blond, who frowned.

"What do you know about it, _Draco_?" She emphasized his name mockingly, just to find that she rather liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Draco. Draco. Dracodracodracodrac-

"I know you're the long lost daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Griswald, who come from a very prestigious (and undeniably rich) pureblood family." He started to walk away. Without a thought, Hermione followed, staying close by his side. She was too preoccupied by the boy's knowledge, knowledge that she herself did not possess, to give a thought to the consequences. They descended the stairs, and walked through the corridor in front of the Great Hall which, Hermione noticed absently, was very crowded. The throng of people parted before them as they walked side by side, and she could almost hear the frenzied whispers of students behind them. _Is that Hermione Granger walking with Draco Malfoy? I heard he put a spell on her to be his mud- his muggleborn slave. Well, I heard that he lost a bet, and now he has to do all her homework for a month. Oh, you're silly, Hermione would never let someone else do her homework… _

All these comments filtered through the air unnoticed by the duo. They walked with a purpose born of the need for solitude, and neither paid attention to any of their surroundings. It wasn't until Hermione glanced at the clock that she realized just how late it was getting; her classmates were already halfway through COMC. She had long given up the thought of going to class, though, opting instead to drain information from the cocky Slytherin with whom she had spent the night.

"So, have you told your friends?" Draco asked again when they had reached the library. He had led them effortlessly to her favorite study spot, consciously mirroring the previous week's encounter. Releasing her breath (which she had held almost since they left the Transfiguration corridor), Hermione sat hard in her chair, resting her forehead on her arms on top of the wooden table. Draco sat across from her, heels propped once again on the scuffed tabletop.

"No," was her short reply, muffled to merely a grunt by the sleeves of her school robes. She waited for him to gloat, to shoot off a biting remark about knowing more of the Gryffindor Golden Girl's secrets than the Gryffindors themselves, but surprisingly, he did not. Instead, he stood and crossed to the window behind them, chuckling humorlessly.

"Hermione Granger, a pureblood. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the world had ended!" His words were harsh, but not so his tone. She raised her head, running her slender fingers through her unruly bush of hair before turning to look at him. The light shining through the window cast a luminous glow upon him, making his pale skin seem to glow. His profile was hidden from view by a curtain of jaw-length hair, and before she realized what she was doing, Hermione had moved next to him and was using the tips of her fingers to brush away the offending locks. He was startled, but instead of pushing her away like he should have, he only turned back to the window.

She cursed herself. Why was she acting like such a love-struck child? Yes, they had slept together. So what? It was a spur of the moment action, a rebellious move, something to help her forget her problems. It had worked for the night, but when the sun came again to swallow the peaceful moonlight, so had her troubles. When she told him that she wouldn't make the same mistake, she had meant every word, more than he knew. She wouldn't perform reckless acts to help her through. Not again. But, as his cloudy eyes stared out the window, surveying the grounds, she found that she would give the world to know what he was thinking.

He didn't know what had brought him to say it. Her words had cut him to the quick: "I will never make the same mistake," she had said, and turned to walk away. It could have been a twisted form of revenge, trying to hurt her as she'd hurt him, but Draco knew that that wasn't the case. She had been walking away; the perfect girl, the one for whom he had hidden his affections for years. She was walking away, and he did the one thing he could to keep her there; he'd told her that he knew. Then, she'd followed him down the corridor, and past the Great Hall, where swarms of students congregated between classes. It had been his own way of staking his claim, showing the students that she was with him, and in hindsight? An incredibly stupid move. When the Slytherins got hold of this information, he'd have to do some major damage control. But for now… for now, Hermione was all his.

Now they sat across from each other in the library. He was reclining in the chair; she, resting her head on the able. The anger he had felt this morning had dissipated; all that was left was an overwhelming need to keep her close. He asked her if she'd told her friends; she hadn't. If she hadn't told them that she was pureblooded, there was certainly no way in hell she had told them about last night… but that was fine. He'd be able to keep his hide just a little longer; he was loathe to see her baboons' reactions when they finally found out.

He crossed to the window, laughing a little under his breath. "Hermione Granger, a pureblood. If I didn't know better, I'd say the world had ended!" He meant it as an insult, he really did, but his voice came out soft and affectionate. Damn! He stared out the window, searching desperately for something to say. It was all coming together for him now. Hermione Granger was pureblood! The mere thought was enough to make him want to shout for joy.. .but he knew very well that Malfoys didn't show emotion.

That idea almost took a dive head-first out the window when he felt something brush against his cheek. He turned to his right, to find Hermione's warm, gentle hand brushing the hair from his face. He longed to smile at her, to pull her closer, but could not. His body wouldn't obey his brain's commands, and he once again turned to the window. The witch beside him withdrew.

"I.. I wanted to thank you for last night." She spoke quietly, as though she was afraid of disturbing the peace that had fallen between them. He remained silent; what did one say to that? After another period of prolonged silence, she continued, "I didn't think my note really covered it. I was having a really tough time of it last night, and you helped me to… you helped." She concluded simply, twining her fingers together in front of her.

His voice was flat and emotionless when he replied. "If I did you such a service, why didn't you stay?" He didn't want her to know that he'd been hurt by her disappearance; he just wanted to make her believe that leaving had caused him an inconvenience. Who knew how she'd react to discovering that the Slytherin Prince actually had human _feelings_.

"I told you I didn't want to be found." Hermione looked up at him, but when Draco didn't meet her gaze, returned to staring silently at her clasped hands. "It's not like what happened last night was serious anyway. I don't see what's bothering you so much."

He didn't have time to let the straws pile up; he just knew he couldn't let that remark go. Draco pushed away from the window, turning to face her angrily. She squeaked at his sudden movement, but to her credit, stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. "Not serious." Draco repeated stonily. "Not serious?" He didn't raise his voice. As he had learned from his father at a very early age, cold intimidation could get the job done much more efficiently than anger.

True to form, Hermione did not flinch at his icy tone; she merely narrowed her eyes as he continued. "Do you really think I invite girls to my bed on a whim? Do you think for one moment that I would have slept with you without contemplating the repercussions first?" His voice was still cold, hut flames shot from his eyes, melting the ice from his words, drenching them both in shock.

"There wasn't time for you to think," Hermione cried out desperately, attracting the attention of Madame Pince. The witch shockingly ignored the library Matron's fevered shushing, and carried on. "You hate me! If it wasn't impulse, then…" Her voice faltered, and her jaw went slack as Draco leaned forward.

"Don't ever presume to know what I think. What I feel." Sighing, he tucked an unruly lock of chestnut hair behind her small ear. Gazing into her eyes, he felt his stomach tingle deliciously, but ignored the sensation. This was no time to get emotional. "Get to know me, Granger," he drawled, his hand lingering briefly on the side of her face. "You might be surprised at what you find." With that, he turned sharply on his heel, leaving the fumbling girl alone to deal with the implications of his words.

A/N: So? Good? Bad? How'd you like Drakey? Lol. Press the button. It's calling your name; you're not imagining things.


	11. Chapter Ten

A/N; Ok, it has officially been almost forever since I've updated, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry! I've got some very interesting stuff for you this chapter; it's up to you to tell me how you're liking it. This one goes out to ProwlingKitKat and Care Bear Erin. You guys have been great:D

PS: I've officially (finally) added the reviewed and revised version of the prologue here on fanfiction. it's not too much different than the first one, but I've fixed a few grammar and spelling problems. If you want to read it, feel free, if not; not a big deal. Enjoy the chapter, and HIT THE BUTTON! Lol.

_**Chapter Ten**_

_What did he mean? _She glanced at the clock. Five minutes until the end of COMC, and then it would be time for lunch. _He'd thought about me before? But that's… that's impossible. He'd never think about me, a 'Mudblood' like that… But he said not to presume… _Three minutes. Leaving the safety of her study corner in the library, Hermione rushed down the corridor to the entrance hall. She had to talk to Ron and Harry. One minute. _'Get to know me, Granger'. How does he possibly expect me to do that? Not that I want to or anything…but Merlin, could he be any bigger with the cryptic? And the way he looked at me… Sometimes I wish-_

"'Mione!" Harry rushed over to her, eyeing her peculiarly. Ron was right behind him, but the redhead didn't stop with a look. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around his friend, crushing her against him. As abruptly as he started, he stopped and pulled away. His bright blue eyes dropped to the floor, and his freckled face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Harry grinned. "He means to say we were worried," he translated for the blushing Ron, and Hermione grinned right back.

"You never miss class, 'Mione." Ron's sheepish voice drifted up from his down-turned face. She smiled even wider.

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern." _I really should tell them… they're my best friends; if anyone deserves to know, it's them. Maybe not about Malfoy… not yet. But about the other…_ "But there is something I think we need to discuss."

Instantly, Ron's head shot up, and he pinned her with a sharp glare. "Did Malfoy do something to you?" he growled, glancing around. At the mention of his blond adversary, Harry tensed as well. "Just point us in the right direction, Hermione." Ron continued. "We'll kill the greasy git."

Quickly, Hermione shook her head. The last thing she needed was for Draco to get mauled by her two well-meaning, over-protective friends, especially on her order. "No, Dra- er, Malfoy didn't do a thing. Bt we really need to talk." The sobriety in her voice went unnoticed by the redhead.

"Can't it wait 'til after lunch?" Ron was already walking down the corridor to the Great Hall, where lunch was waiting. _He'd rather stuff his face than listen to what I have to say? My news is extremely important (but he couldn't possibly know that) but even so, he'd rather fill that bottomless pit of a stomach then help me with a problem!_ Knowing that she was making a big deal out of virtually nothing, she couldn't help the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes; Harry must have seen them, because he called out.

"Ron?" Ron didn't hear him, and just kept walking. "Ron!" Harry tried a little louder, anxiety growing as the volume of tears in his best friend's eyes increased.

"Harry, It's ok," Hermione whispered, blinking to clear her blurry vision. "We'll just… talk later."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and he smiled, relieved.

"Race you to the Great Hall!" he cried, then disappeared in a flurry of maroon and black. Hermione just shook her head and followed slowly behind.

O.O

Draco watched from a shadowy doorway as the witch he'd already come to think of as his tried to hide her tears. His already formidable respect for the bookish brunette grew as he watched her reign in her emotions (_atta girl, Hermione) _and he had to concentrate very hard on his breathing to keep himself from pummeling the Weasel into an unrecognizable pulp for bringing her pain. _Maybe later_, he told himself, then grinned.

When she left, trailing after the Boy-Who-Whined, he followed as well, taking care not to be noticed. She sat quietly at her place between the two boys, and piled a modest amount of food onto her golden platter.

Keeping a protective (possessive) eye on Hermione, Draco crossed to the Slytherin table and sat beside as smirking Blaise. "What's your problem?" he grumbled, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Blaise laughed loudly, causing a few heads to turn in his direction, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he passed a pitcher of pumpkin juice to his blond, brooding friend, and snickered. "Could you be _any _more obvious?"

Draco's hand stilled in the middle of pouring himself a glass. _Uh-oh. Busted_. "What do you mean?"

"Look at yourself. Anyone could see she's got you tied up." Blaise gestured in the Gryffindors' general direction with his fork before spearing a piece of ham with the same utensil. He lifted the bite to his lips, waiting for his friend's reply.

"I don't know what you're-'

"You slept with her."

"Bugger." Draco sighed, defeated, and closed his eyes. He should have known this would happen. Blaise always knew. It didn't matter how careful he was; if there was something going on in Draco's life, Blaise knew about it. Sometimes even before Draco himself. "What does it matter to you?"

"It really doesn't; you know that," Blaise said, passing the blond a platter of deli meats. "In fact, I'm happy for you! I've been wondering how long it would take you before you got with her." The darker-haired-yet-equally-snarky Slytherin chuckled, and pointed out gleefully, "You've been obsessing over her for years!"

"What! I have not!" The pale wizard bristled at his best friend's mocking gaze, then sighed dejectedly, turned to his plate, and began spooning up some mashed potatoes.

"You have too. Did you forget, Draco, that I've known you since we were children? Just because we cannot _actually_ read each other's minds doesn't mean I don't know what goes on inside that twisted head of yours." Blaise continued conversationally, still gesturing grandly (and unnecessarily, Draco noted grumpily) with his fork. "There is just one thing I don't understand." Draco's companion mused, keeping careful eyes on Draco's expression as he spoke. "Why this year? What has changed?" He emphasized his question with an exaggeratedly punctuated bite of juicy ham, still watching for any insight to the blond's thoughts. As he expected, none was forthcoming.

"What leads you to believe anything has changed?' Draco tried desperately for nonchalance. To anyone that _wasn't _Blaise, he seemed uninterested and detached, but his long-time friend saw through his façade as though it were glass.

"Only a week ago, you wouldn't say her name in public, for fear your mouth would be 'contaminated'," Zabini scoffed. "Then, last night, you took her to your bed. Something has changed; don't try to deny it."

The youngest Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, weighing the other Slytherin's words against his own judgment. Taking one last bite of the meat on his plate, the blond elegantly rose from he table. "Meet me in the common room after dinner tonight." He spoke calmly, but the storm raging in his eyes warred with his cool demeanor and exposed the flutter of excitement and trepidation in his gut. "We have much to discuss."

Blaise's eyes followed Draco as he crossed the room. When he approached the Gryffindor table rather than the doors, the Italian laughed, and wondered if his wholly Slytherin friend knew just how badly he was caught.

O.O

"Oi, Harry!" Katie Bell called from her seat down he table, interrupting Hermione's monologue about her newest assignment in Ancient Runes. Harry whispered his apologies to her, and she smiled sweetly, allowing him to turn to his teammate. "I got a letter from Wood!" The athletic girl called out, smiling widely. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what all the fuss was about, until the other girl shouted, "He's been accepted to play for the Chudley Cannons!"

"No way!" Ron interjected, causing the bookish brunette to sigh. The redhead had abandoned his own conversation to interrogate Katie, leaving Seamus Finnigan (who had been telling Ron about his new chess set) looking disgruntled. _Oh, the joys of Quidditch_, Hermione thought to herself. Thankfully, Ginny joined them at that moment, giving the Gryffindor girl some much-needed company.

"Quidditch again?" The young redhead asked, giggling when Hermione nodded her chestnut head wildly in exasperation.

"I know you like it, too, but at least it's not an obsession," the brunette sighed, gazing longingly at her boys. Both of their faces were lit with excitement as they took part in what she could only call 'Boy Gossip'. It was the 'he said she said' of the broomstick world; which brooms the Cannons were riding this year, what position Wood was going to play, and she found it all absolutely boring. Ginny nodded sympathetically. Oh well. At least she had _someone _to talk to.

"Ginny?" She said on a whim. The younger witch looked at her. "Do you think Draco Malfoy is… attractive?" Her voice had lowered to barely a whisper but the red-head heard her without a problem.

Ginny choked for a moment, before gaping at her friend incredulously. "Did you… did our just ask me if I thought Malfoy was hot"

"Well, yes," was all Hermione was able to say before her companion burst into laughter. The group of Gryffindors surrounding them looked at the chortling girl with shock and confusion before returning to their respective conversations. The brunette waited patiently for the youngest Weasley to regain her composure before asking again, "Well, do you?"

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny managed through a few rogue giggles, "Of course I do! I mean, Merlin, where were you that day in the dorms when we had that discussion?"

"I was …reading," Hermione confessed, but her eyebrows furrowed. "I thought you hated him!"

"'Mione, 'Mione, 'Mione," Ginny tsked, " You don't have to _like_ a person to think he's a hottie. Malfoy is a first-class Grade A super-git, but he's still perfectly shaggable."

"Ginny!" The brunette gasped out loud, shocked and tickled at her friends choice of words. She paused to gain a breath, and realized that their table was completely quiet. In fact, the entirety of the Great Hall was silent, the only ones still talking being herself and Ginny. She tried to quiet her friend as she searched for the cause of the anomaly, but Ginny barged straight ahead.

"What? It's true! Malfoy would probably be a great shag!" With a sudden certainty, Ginny's face turned tomato red, and she whispered, "The entire hall just heard what I said, didn't they?"

Hermione could only nod meekly and watch helplessly as her third best friend fled. She, however, stayed firmly rooted to the spot, facing the teachers' curious glances as she searched for the reason of the sudden quiet. She turned around and came face to face with the cause. He was smirking, but only to hide the furious blush on his cheeks. That blush was just intensified by the paleness of his skin.

"Malfoy."

"Gris- er- Granger." He locked eyes with her for a moment, his blush receding, before doing what she never thought he'd be able to do with a straight face. He acknowledged her friends with a words and a nod in each of their directions. "Potter." Nod. "Weasley." Another nod. Merlin, time seemed to be moving in slow motion! Vaguely, Hermione realized that he had called Ron by his true family name, rather than some foul mockery of the same. Before she could question his good spirits, a single word spoken in unison by her two best friends rocked her to her foundation.

"Malfoy." It was spoken, surprisingly, without malice. Instead, it was a dry, emotionless acknowledgement, but it was more than the brunette had hoped for.

"What do you-" she started before the dam on the angry words burst.

"What in the bloody hell do you want, Malfoy?" She cast a quick glance at the speaker. _Oh blimey, Ron. Why do you have to be such a git? Malfoy, oddly enough, hasn't even insulted you, and you're already on the offensive._

"As little of your concern as it may be," Malfoy drawled, and Hermione's attention was inevitably drawn back to him, "I've come to ask Granger here a question." He turned his own attention to her once more. "Although I suppose I should track down little Weasel. I'm sure _hard_ facts would be much more convincing than bathroom gossip." His drawl was even more pronounced with this statement, and the smirk had retaken his face. Even though she couldn't see them, Hermione could feel Harry reach out to grab Ron's robes, holding him back from trying to damage Malfoy in front of the teachers. "Later," she though she heard the raven-haired wizard whisper, but she couldn't be sure. "But, I'll just stick it to Granger, for now." The Slytherin continued, letting his eyes carry the innuendo. It did not go unnoticed.

"What is it you needed to ask me, Malfoy?" She tried to sound calm, but wasn't sure if her dry throat allowed her to pull it off. No one noticed anything, obviously, because Malfoy only nodded.

"Right to the point, I see. No foreplay. How like you." She winced at his harsh tone, and could practically taste her boys' confusion, but ignored them for now. "I was wondering when you'd like to meet in the library," Malfoy finally stated. His voice was crisp and cold, but the ice in his eyes was slowly cracking.

_The library? What about the library? Oh gods, look at his eyes. There should be a law against expressions like that in public._

"About the Arithmancy work you missed..?" He prompted when he was met with a puzzled look.

_Of course! Arithmancy… the only class we have alone together…_ The possibilities unfolded like a map in front of her. If she was reading him correctly, this was more than just a offer to study. If she chose to follow him to the library, she had a feeling she would be choosing something just a little more than that. Could she handle more?_ You slept with him on a whim; you _used _him to take your mind off your other, more important problems. You don't know if he really wants you, or if you were just a coincidence. _But his own voice echoed through her memories. "Don't ever presume to know what I think, what I feel," he had said, he had asked her to get to know him, and here he was offering her a way to do so without her friends ever knowing the difference. He was offering her something… more.

_But can you really handle more? _That little voice was really starting to get annoying. _Do you really want, do you really think you could handle, something more than a one-night fling?_

_Yes,_ she realized with a start. Yes, she did. She wanted a relationship; a friendship, something more… something _substantial._ Draco Malfoy was intelligent, witty, (not _completely_ obsessed with Quidditch) and was an excellent lover. What else could she ask for? _Someone who enjoys your company. Someone who likes your friends. Someone who _hasn't _made your life a living hell since your first day. _Petulant Little Voice was back again… and making some very good points.

"This is absurd," she thought, not realizing she was speaking out loud. The entire situation was disturbing. Could she really be pondering a relationship with _Draco Malfoy?_ Not only would it be impossible because of her friends, her _cause_, but it would be hell on her personally. She had just been ripped from her normal life and thrown haphazardly into a family she hadn't even known existed until the day before… that was confusing enough. Hermione knew that she couldn't even _think_ about a relationship, friendly or otherwise, with the youngest Malfoy; it would only serve to muddy up already-murky waters.

"Tell him to bugger off, Hermione." Ron was stage-whispering to her. Inwardly, the brunette sighed. _Goodbye, Draco. You've really been a help._

"I think," she started, mortified hen her voice cracked. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and started again, looking the Slytherin square in the eyes, trying to convey all of her thoughts, all of her gratitude, with a single glance. "I think I'll just get the notes from Hannah, thank you."

If her unexpected answer affected him in slightest, he didn't let it show. He merely nodded and walked away; at least he attempted to, before Ron spoke again.

"Yeah. Piss off, Ferret Face."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Malfoy turned aback around to face them. His expression was firm and his eyes distant, and Hermione found herself wishing she could crawl under the carpet and disappear. She didn't want to be anywhere near Ground Zero when this ticking time bomb exploded.

The blond wizard opened his mouth as if to speak. His eyes drifted over her for the hundredth time, searching her face, and he seemed to rethink his actions. He did speak (of course, because Draco Malfoy would rather die than remain silent) but his words were more shocking than if he hadn't spoken at all. "I have nothing more to say to you," he muttered. With turn and flourish, he was gone, his robes billowing impressively behind him.

The teachers looked on with interest as gradually, the volume in the Hall returned to normal, and soon, the shocking episode that would never be known as The Day the Trio Finally Blew Up Malfoy was forgotten.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Hermione went to Arithmancy that afternoon tired, cold, and confused. She could feel stormy eyes boring into the back of her head but she dared not turn around. If she were able to ignore him during class today, she would be one step further into Operation: Forget Malfoy.

"Hannah," she whispered fervently near the end of class. Professor Vector had given them their assignment for the night, and it wouldn't' be due until late next week. Unfortunately, due to her meeting with Dumbledore the night previous, she had notes from the other day to make up. So here she was, approaching Hannah Abbot for the same pieces of parchment she could have easily gotten from Malfoy not an hour and a half earlier "Hannah?"

The round-face girl beside her cocked her eyebrow; "What's up, Hermione?"

"Can I borrow your notes from yesterday?"

_(Hannah nodded eagerly, digging into her pouch for yesterday's parchment. Hermione smiled her thanks, and took the notes from her neighbor with barely concealed glee. Nimble fingers browsed the pages reverently, and -)_

"Sure, I don't see why-" Hannah started before Professor Vector's voice, light and curious, called her name. She shrugged apologetically at Hermione (who was still rather confused over her lapse into dreamland) and vacated her seat.

"Wait, what about-" But it was too late. Hannah left the room, along with all of her materials, and Hermione laid her forehead heavily on her desk. Great. Just great. The only other person who took detailed enough notes was Malfoy… and there was no way in Hell she was going to approach him. She could still feel his gaze burning into her, and still refused to meet it. Finally, the bell rang, and Hermione left feeling even more dejected than when class had started.

Dinner flew by without incident, but Ginny was still nowhere to be found. Lavender explained that she was hiding in the dorms in Gryffindor tower, apparently still mortified over the 'occurrence' at lunch, and Hermione was depressed. It seemed that Ginny was the only one she could talk to, and she was just itching to tell someone other than her diary what had happened the night before. Normally, the intellectual brunette did not condone gossip or anything of the sort, but she figured that this little tidbit of information deserved to be discussed… so it could be taken apart and analyzed by someone with a relatively objective position, of course.

Charms, with Professor Flitwick, was her last class of the day, and it seemed to be passing by more quickly than she had dared to hope. Sitting in the far corner with Harry and Ron, Hermione was especially careful not to answer any questions or draw any attention to herself. The lack of activity on her part must have been disconcerting for the poor old man, but so far, she wasn't in danger of revealing her identity by accident. .. … That sounded very James Bond. When all was said and done, Hermione thought she might make that joke to someone with enough interest in Muggle culture to find it funny.

The end of class was in sight, and the young witch was so busy internally counting down the seconds until her release and chatting amicably with her friends that she never saw the tawny school owl fly in the open window, nor did she notice when Professor Flitwick abandoned the papers he'd been grading to call for her.

"Miss Griswald?"

She continued shuffling her papers and talking with Ron, oblivious to the looks of confusion darting around the room.

"Miss Griswald!" The Head of Ravenclaw house was becoming irritated, his patience quickly wearing thin. He raised his shrill voice once more. "Miss Granger!"

Hermione's head shot up, mortified to realize that he'd been calling her for so long. "Y-yes, Professor?" Once again, she felt gazes boring into her back. Unlike the obsessive glaring that Malfoy was subjecting her to, however, these glances were inquisitive and confused.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office tonight, before you return to your dormitory," the small man at the front desk said in a huff before returning to the papers in front of him.

"Yes, sir." Hermione muttered quietly, shrinking down in her seat. Class was dismissed, and everyone rushed to the door. Everyone, that is, save for the Trio. Harry and Ron flanked their friend as she sluggishly gathered her materials.

"What's going on, Hermione?" Harry asked, holding the door open for her. She shook her head slightly as she passed him, trying to make them understand without words that she didn't want to talk about it, but her boys would not be deterred.

"Yeah, Hermione. What's going on? Why did Flitwick call you 'Griswald'?" Ron added, curling his upper lip at the name. He and Harry diligently followed the silent woman to the Great Hall, where they would part ways.

"I'll… I'll talk to you when I come back, ok?" Hermione choked out in a thick voice, carefully avoiding the eyes of her two best mates.

"Why not now, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly. She glanced up. Hermione had heard him use that tone before, but never with her. It was a dangerous tone, full of quiet malice.

"It's a long story, and I have to go," the brunette shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with the scarlet monogram on her onyx robes. "Can't this wait? After I speak with Dumbledore, I'll tell you everything, alright?" _Well, maybe not everything,_ she amended silently, _but at least most of it. Please, understand that I'll at least tell you that._

Harry, lips thin with worry, nodded his head after a moment of what seemed like intense consideration. Elated, Hermione threw her arms around him gratefully, and surprised Ron by doing the same to him. He blushed as she shot them a watery smile; and then she was gone.

"Ah, Miss Griswald! A pleasure to have you here!" The elderly wizard smiled broadly and gestured to the armchair in front of him. "Make yourself at home. Biscuit?"

Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, Hermione weakly returned his jubilant smile. She sat and, refusing the offered vittles, got right to the point. "You said you wanted to see me, sir?" She was uncharacteristically nervous; granted, the last time Dumbledore spoke to her, the entire world seemingly stopped turning. She was terrified that another new shock would be thrust upon her during this visit. If there was, she was sure she wouldn't be able to take it.

"That I did, child, that I did." Dumbledore must have sensed her uneasiness, because he didn't attempt to dance around the topic at hand. "Your parents, the Griswalds, have requested your presence over the Yule vacation."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly and sunk low into the velvet of the chair. The room was spinning again, and her grip on the wooden arms of her seat tightened as she tried to regain her bearings. She should have known this was coming. They had severed her ties with her Muggle parents; she should have known it was only a matter of time before they came for her directly. _Breathe, Hermione. Everything will right itself in the end._ "While I know this may come as a shock to you, they seem very interested in getting to know you," continued the well-meaning Headmaster.

The young witch drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. "Please tell them I'll accept their request, and look forward to meeting them." _May as well keep things polite. Who knows? Maybe we'll get along._

Dumbledore nodded his great snowy head and, with a flourish, wrote a note on a small piece of parchment. _That looks a lot like the parchment I used for Dr- for Malfoy,_ she thought bemusedly as she watched him roll it up.

"Fawkes!" He called for his phoenix, and in a flash, it appeared in all its glory at the top of the bookcase. With barely a flutter, it floated down to the desktop and turned to gaze at her mournfully. A soft note crooned through the air, and she felt her spirit lift as she listened to the beautiful bird's haunting song. The headmaster finished tying the small bundle to the phoenix's leg, and with a quick breeze and a rush of fiery feathers, the bird was gone. The song, and the peace that had come with it, were gone as well. Hermione watched wistfully as Fawkes disappeared into the creeping darkness, chuckling humorlessly at the metaphor of her own happiness.

"You're free to go, Miss Griswald."

She couldn't help but flinch at the new name she bore, but nodded drearily. Thanking the old man as she rose, she cast one more longing gaze out the window before descending the staircase to the gloomy, inescapable hallway below.

* * *

She obviously wasn't coming tonight. Draco snorted as he kicked at a loose book lying on the floor, backing away as vicious hands emerged from the binding and reached for his foot. He'd waited in the library for over an hour. It wasn't like he was stalking her; far from it, actually. If he were stalking her, he wouldn't have waited in a plae where she wasn't going to be. No, he'd been patiently waiting to ask her why she didn't take him up on his offer earlier. All he'd wanted was a reason; it wasn't very often that he was turned down on anything, let alone what he had silently offered her today at lunch. It was a shock to his system (and a blow to his ego) for her to so blatantly refuse him, and he'd wanted to make her change her mind. Or at least ask her who had gotten to her first.

Instead, he was walking back down the empty corridor alone, stoically preparing himself for the conversation he had promised Blaise. It had been so long since the two had sat down to do nothing more than talk; vaguely, Draco wondered if he still remembered how. Especially now, with all the distraction. Without intense focus, the blond could scarcely remember anything except how Hermione's skin felt rubbing against his own, hot and slick with sweat; how she smelled, how she tasted, how she-

_Don't dwell on an experience that is doubtful to have a repeat performance_, he chastised himself. Then, the little voice in his head was back, bigger and louder than ever. _Who's to say it won't happen again? _It asked. _You're Draco Malfoy! Or did all this mush clouding your brain make you forget? If you can't get what you want honestly, then manipulate the situation for your own benefit, until your desires fall conveniently into your lap! It's what you do best!_

"But I'm sure she really wouldn't' enjoy being manipulated," he mumbled to himself as he rushed down the steps. A blast of cold air hit him in the face, and he immediately pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. At last, Draco reached the portrait. Teeth chattering, he whispered the password, and crawled through the revealed hole into the Slytherin common room.

Blaise was waiting by the fire in the midst of a giant group of students. It was considerably warmer here, and Draco immediately shed his outer cloak, opting to stand beside his friend.

"Did you stall long enough?" Blaise asked a few minutes later. His voice was quiet, barely loud enough to be heard over the ruckus of his fellow housemates, but the young Malfoy could plainly hear the mockery in his tone. He smiled a little, trying to disarm his companion, but a single sideways glance from the Italian halted any such plan in its tracks.

"We can't talk here," Draco scowled, letting his eyes roam pointedly across the packed common room. "And you know as well as I do that the minute we sit down, Pansy and her little flock of nattering birds will be all over us. Should we take this into the dormitory?"

Blaise nodded his assent, and followed the moody blond through the portcullis to the boy's dorms. Draco's accurate assessment of Pansy and her clique was in no way odd; despite the Draco's tolerance of the dark-haired girl, he simply couldn't stand the rest of them, and made it his business to learn their behaviors. "All the better to dodge them with ease," his friend had once said, and Blaise couldn't agree more. Just like hiding from predators; if you learned their habits, it made it that much easier to stay downwind.

Safely inside the sixth year boys' dormitory, the two Slytherins made sure they were completely alone. Blaise saw Draco's determined gaze, and mocking his paranoia, even went so far as to check under the beds. Satisfied, he turned to his companion, and smirked. "So, Draco, talk to me."

The wizard in question dropped onto his bed, and pressed a pillow over his face. 30 seconds ago, no one would have been able to suss out just how distraught the young Malfoy was; now that there was no one other than Blaise to witness his moment of weakness, he felt fine displaying his emotions. Groaning aloud, Draco grit his teeth and tried to disappear into the mattress. Needless to say his efforts were fruitless. The dark-haired wizard tapped his foot impatiently until Draco finally spoke.

"I've made a big mistake, mate," he grumbled into his pillow. When Blaise offered no comment, one storm-gray eye peeked out at him from behind the green satin. "Well? Aren't you going to ask?"

His companion shook his head.

"Laugh?"

Again with the head shaking. Draco growled.

"Something?!"

Blaise finally chuckled, more at the frazzled state his friend was in than at any problem he may, or may not, actually have. He was not blind to the way Draco tended to dramatize minor issues.

Satisfied that he had garnered some reaction from his so-called 'best friend', Draco threw down the pillow and rested his chin in his hand.

"It's the girl, isn't it?" Zabini finally asked after a few moments of brooding silence from the room's only other occupant.

Draco stiffened momentarily, wondering how Blaise had known straight off, but shrugged it off as a Slytherin thing before nodding miserably. "I don't understand this, Blaise. I don't know why she makes me feel this way. No-" He swallowed to wet his dry mouth, and rose from his bed to pace the floor. "No female has ever affected me in this manner. I'm a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!"

"You're in love with her." It was a statement more than a question; even if Draco denied it, Blaise was already convinced that love was his only ailment.

The blond narrowed his eyes before letting go of all pretense and slumping in defeat. "Yes. No. Hell if I know." He threw up his hands and stared at the ceiling. "How in the hell are you supposed to know? One minute I can't stand the daft, know-it-all bint, and the next minute I want to shag her bloody sideways." His voice rose in volume until Blaise was wishing they'd remembered to cast a silencing charm on the door. "Then suddenly," Draco continued ranting madly, "I just want to hold her, and . . . cuddle with her like some bloody poof!" He kicked the leg of the nightstand with one perfectly shiny shoe, frowning and grumbling when a dark scuff appeared on the toe. "I hate women."

"Tell me what happened."

Blaise's tone was calm and reassuring, and Draco had never been more glad of his presence than he was at that very moment. With another sigh, he plopped back down on the bed across from Blaise's, and recounted the whole unhappy tale. He vagued it up quite a bit for propriety's sake (more hers than his), but he still remembered every sigh, every moan, every _whisper_ she had shared with him as though it had only been yesterday. _Wait a minute. It really _was_ only yesterday!_ Bugger all. So many things had happened between then and now, it felt as though years had passed.

"Well, that explains _what _happened," Blaise commented dryly when Draco had finished, "But it doesn't give me any clue as to _why_. I can't help you unless I know the _why_, Draco, and you know it. You practically admitted to me this morning that something had changed. Tell me."

The blond warred with himself. This was really Hermione's news; he had no business telling anyone about her personal life. If someone was eavesdropping, or happened to overhear this conversation by 'accident'… well, it was a secret, so everyone would know by morning. _But Blaise is your best mate,_ his other voice said. _Has been for years. You've told him everything… can you really edge him out now, when his opinion really matters?_ So, in the end, he told Blaise about his mother's surprising letter, and his initial shock and relief. "She's a pureblood, Blaise. A _pureblood_. Do you have any idea what this could mean for her? For _me_?"

"Hold on, now." Zabini sat up from his reclined position, and leaned towards him conspiratorially. "I need to get this straight. The only reason you didn't approach Gr.. iswald before is because… why exactly?"

"My father. You know that. One hint that his only son, the Heir to the entire Malfoy estate, was making moon-eyes at a Muggleborn, and that psychopath would have snapped. He would have killed me, and tortured her. Not necessarily in that order," he added as an afterthought.

"And now that you know your father would approve…"

"More than approve, Blaise. You didn't read my mother's letter. She seemed very adamant that I make friends with Hermione… They seem to be pushing this. I know that can't be a good thing, but…" Draco caught, and held, Blaise's gaze, trying to convince him of the sincerity behind his words. "I want her, more now than ever." His lips drew into a scowl. "Just because my parent's and I don't hold the same life philosophy does not mean that they mean any less to me as parents. I still would like them to approve my choice of partners. They are my _parents_." An evil smirk slowly played over his face, and the blond stood. "And you know me. I'm a Malfoy. Moreover, I'm Draco Malfoy. I always get what I want."

"Atta boy, mate." Blaise grinned, and slapped his friend heartily on the back. "You go get her."

Draco's smirk disappeared. "I already tried that, and it backfired in ways I never imagined. She turned me down, and she's going to regret it." Rubbing his hands together in a way that _could _be described as maniacal, Draco's lips pulled back into a grin. "No. This time, she'll come to _me_."

* * *

Pansy and Daphne walked through the door arm in arm, giggling like mad as they watched two first years scrambling out of their way. "Did you see the look on his face?" Daphne laughed out loud as Pansy blew the clumsy child a kiss, reveling in the way his eyes glazed over. "Pansy, that's not even nice," the blonde girl chuckled, taking the seat a fifth year offered her.

"Oh, I know, but it was so _fun_!" That sent them into another round of giggles. Or, it did, until Pansy saw Draco and Blaise standing with their heads close together, glancing suspiciously around the room. Turning back to her friend, Parkinson tossed out an apology. "I'm going to have to cut our visit short. I've suddenly remembered some pressing business I must attend to."

"Sure, sure," Daphne waved her off distractedly, paying much more attention to the handsome seventh-year across the table. Pansy sighed, and watched her Draco carefully. His face was calm, but something in the way he held himself suggested that he wasn't as 'together' as his expression advertised. When the two boys slipped through the portal into the hallway that led to the boys' dorms, Pansy couldn't help but follow. She had almost made it to the hallway when a tall first-year tapped her on the shoulder.

"Yes?" She sighed. It was David. He was her favorite of the young students; bright, inquisitive, and willing to do anything to please her. The fact that he was her favorite cousin didn't hurt, either. His dark brown bangs fell in a clump over his eyes, and he blushed madly when she used the tips of her fingers to brush them back. "What did you need, Davey?"

"It's David, Pansy. I told you I don't like it when people call me Davey." A friendly smirk from Pansy made him drop his shoulders in defeat. "But I suppose it's ok for family. And don't _do_ that!" He whined, finally acting like the eleven-year-old he was, batting at her hands. "You'll embarrass me in front of my friends!"

Pansy cast a glance behind him at the group of giggling pre-pubescent boys in the corner, and shrugged. "No big loss. What did you need, _David_?" She asked, dropping her arm to her side, being careful to exaggerate the use of his name.

The younger Slytherin blushed again, but went about his business. "A bunch of the guys have been talking about you and Daphne again. They keep on saying all this stuff about you guys… you know." The dark-haired girl raised an eyebrow at the odd shrugging gesture that accompanied the phrase. When she didn't respond right away, David grimaced. "Don't make me _say_ it, Pans. They think you two… _like_ each other."

"We do like each other, Davey. We're best friends," Pansy pointed out, purposely ignoring the true meaning of the question. Lately, rumors have been flying that she and Daphne were lesbian, and that their friendship was a façade to hide their _friendship_. The Slytherin girl had neither the time nor the inclination to pester with such trifles at the moment. She was a girl on a mission, and valuable time was being wasted defending her sexuality. "Just… can't this wait until later?" She asked, casting an impatient glance at the hallway portal that seemed to be getting farther away by the second. "I have business to attend to!"

Following his cousin's gaze, David's eyes widened as he assumed her meaning. "Oh! Sorry, Pans, I didn't meant to – "

"We'll talk later, Davey!" She was already through the door, so she was unable to see the consequent widening of every young pair of eyes in the room. She crept along the hallway quietly, eyes focused on the sliver of light slicing the darkness from the door to the Sixth Year Dorm. She arrived just in time to hear Draco tell Blaise how Hermione had left the morning after.

_DRACO SLEPT WITH THE MUDBLOOD. _That was the only thing that registered in her mind. She knew he was still talking; somewhere, she knew she should be listening, but she couldn't get over that one fact. There was no dramatic lead-in to the secret, like she always thought there should be for such life-altering information. No, it was just laid before her in black and white; Draco, _her_ Draco, her biggest crush since she was five, the man she had planned to rope into _marriage_, had slept with a disgusting Gryffindor Mudblood.

In a daze, Pansy melted into the shadows. She waited patiently until Blaise had left the room. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours, but the minute he was out of sight, she burst into the dorm. "Tell me it isn't true." She stated flatly at Draco's back.

He turned in surprise, but waited only a beat until fixing her with his intense gaze. He didn't sound angry, nor shocked, but just asked in his strong drawl, "Who invited you in here, Pansy?"

"I remember a time when I wouldn't have needed an invitation, Draco." She replied, closing the door behind her as she stepped farther into the room. One manicured hand ran through her raven locks, and she fixed him with a stare to rival his own. "Tell me you didn't sleep with Granger, and I'll leave now." When he said nothing, she took another step towards him, frowning when he shifted back a millimeter. It wasn't enough of a change to put real distance between them, but definitely enough to let her know how unwelcome she was. "So it _is _true, then." The defiant set of his mouth told her everything she needed to know without words. He didn't only sleep with her… he'd wanted to. With a flurry of robes and midnight hair, Pansy fled the room, and dashed into the common room. Daphne and the seventh-year were gone, as were most of the students that had been there when she had arrived. David, however, still lingered in the corner with his friends, playing a rousing game of wizarding chess. The game board clattered to the floor (at the extreme displeasure of his partner, and all the chess pieces) as he flew across the room to aid his flustered cousin.

"What's wrong, Pansy?"

Blue eyes clashed with blue as Pansy raised her gaze to David's and said quietly, "David, I have a favor to ask you."

A/N: Ok, before anyone says anything, I know, bad me for not updating in forever... but wasn't this chapter worth it? lol... I have a new goal. I'm going to try to write at least a page or five hundred words or something crazy like that every night.. but I'm not going to promise anything. My extreme lack of a life should be able to handle that, but what can I say? Not only am I fickle, I have on other fan fic _and_ an original I'm working on right now! And, lets not discount the poetry, lol. So, what do you think of David? Should I add some more of him? I rather like the opportunities his character provides... and I want to say something right now about Draco's OOC ness earlier when he was talking to Blaise. I know he seemed like a bit of a drama queen, but remember in the third book, when he used all of his dramatic skills to emphasize the damage Buckbeak did to his arm? I kinda wanted the scene to resemble those theatrics. Did I pull it off?


	13. Chapter Twelve

**_A/N:_** Special thanks to Nikki, TriGemini, and Nikkuman for being the only three to review my last chapter. I feel more in touch with my writing when I know someone, somewhere, is getting some enjoyment out of it. And, as I really don't want to have to go through and reload files for the first three chapters, I'd like to thank my beta effluvious for being so attentive to me and my crazy writing. Leave her a cookie in your reviews:D I'm sure she'd appreciate it. Now, for the disclaimer. Not Mine. Deal. Now that the niceties are over...

* * *

_**CHAPTER 12**_

"A little to the left, Demelza. No! Your other left!" Harry corrected with a sigh, watching as his newest keeper ducked to the right. He had spent a week with Ron and Ginny, developing this newest formation, and he was pleased with how it was looking. Purely offensive, this maneuver called for all three chasers to rush forward at once, twisting and intertwining with each other in mid-air, before calling into play a complex passing pattern that was sure to have their opponents scratching their heads in confusion. The sun was setting quickly over the Quidditch pitch, casting a golden glow over everything in sight, and the Seeker was determined to have at least one more drill before returning to the castle. He was so busy calling out directions to his team that he didn't hear Ron's voice until the taller boy was right over his head.

"Harry! Some Slytherin is in the stands watching our practice!" Harry cast a quick glance to his left; Ron was correct. A young boy dressed in standard black robes accented by an emerald green tie sat fidgeting in the stands, staring straight at him. He was too far away to make out the visitor's identity, so mounting his broom, Harry spoke quickly to his best friend. "Watch Demelza. If she doesn't get that move, tell her to go over it again." He didn't even wait for Ron to nod before pushing hard off the ground and flying quickly and easily to confront the intruder.

Rising to eye level with the unwelcome spectator, Harry realized immediately that he recognized the young boy. At the very beginning of the year, before even the Sorting, one first-year somehow broke away from the rest of the group, and got very lost. On his way to the feast himself, Harry had taken pity on the frightened child, and led him through the darkened corridors to the Great Hall. The Gryffindor was dismayed to discover that not only was the young, bright-eyed boy the cousin of one Pansy Parkinson, he was accepted gleefully into the waiting arms of the Slytherin House.

"David. How nice to see you."

"Potter." The young boy nodded in greeting, rising from his sitting position. The cool breeze lifted his cloak, and with a barely discernable shudder, the first-year drew it closer to his body.

After waiting a few moments, Harry tried again to engage the boy in conversation. "Why are you here? Is Malfoy recruiting first years to do his spying for him, then?"

"This has nothing to do with Malfoy," David said quickly, shaking his head. "Well, that's not exactly true, but it has nothing to do with Quidditch…"

* * *

Hermione walked down the dark, desolate, deserted hallway, eyes roaming aimlessly over the walls. Immediately after leaving the Headmaster's office, the witch had taken her materials and headed directly for the library, but before she arrived, Padma Patil, a Ravenclaw in her year, halted her. Apparently, Padma couldn't find her sister Parvati anywhere, and had hoped Hermione had seen her. She had not, so Padma moved on to her next victim. Shaking her head, Hermione had rounded the last corner that led to the library, only to see Draco emerge, sullen-faced and scowling, muttering about 'silly book-worms that didn't stick to their own schedules'. Ducking quickly behind a statue, Hermione waited until the pale blond had stalked out of sight before turning and walking quickly in the other direction, toward the front doors, and headed to the lake. 

Two hours later, she trudged slowly up the steep stairs to Gryffindor Tower, dreading the coming confrontation. She hadn't forgotten the promise she had made to her boys before escaping to the dreaded meeting with the Headmaster, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to bringing this up. _Oh, hey you guys! I just found out I was adopted, so I acted recklessly and had sex with your worst enemy._ No, that wouldn't do. How about, _Wow, look at that snow coming down. Dumbledore says I'm pureblood. Oh, and I had hot, passionate sex with Malfoy. Surprise! _She was running out of options, and as the top of the tower grew nearer, her steps came slower. It was time to admit that she was genuinely afraid of how her best friends would react to the news. _Face it_, her inner voice said snootily. _You know they wouldn't have cared that you're adopted. You'd still be their Hermione. They may be a little upset that you didn't tell them right away, but they'll get over that. No, they might just be furious that you used a guy that you all hate to escape from your problems. Ron will be especially furious._

Ron. What was she going to do about Ron? Since the end of fifth year, Hermione had been entertaining the possibility that she might finally end up dating her long-time friend. Everyone expected it, and she really wouldn't mind. Ron was handsome and affectionate, even if he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box. She could definitely see them dating until graduation, then buying a little white house with a little white picket fence, and living the happily-ever-after fantasy that all girls secretly dreamed about. If he _ever _found out about her little tryst with Malfoy, she could kiss her golden-retriever-and-perfect-2.5-grade-A-children goodbye. The simplest thing to do would be… to not tell them at all! _Oh, brilliant deduction, Hermione. It's no wonder you're the top student in your year. Just don't _tell_ them that you had sex with Malfoy. Conveniently leave that little bit of the story out, and wait until Malfoy opens his fat mouth about bedding the bookworm. That will work _splendidly

With a conflicted groan, she approached the Fat Lady's portrait. Before she could open her mouth to speak the password, though, the Lady looked down at her with a knowing smile. "My, my, weren't we out late last night?" The woman in the portrait winked at the young witch, fanning herself idly. "So tell me dear." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Which young man was it? My friends and I have had a little pot going about who would woo you first." With a girlish giggle, the older woman in the painting leaned down. "Come now, don't hold out on me. This will be our little secret."

"I'll have you know that no young woman 'wooed' me in any way, shape, or form!" Hermione replied haughtily. Technically, it was the truth. What had happened between her and Malfoy couldn't be considered 'wooing' in the slightest, and the Fat Lady's intrusive questioning felt less like friendly banter and more like a personal attack. "Tiddlywinks," she said aloud before the painting could reply. She took a moment to remember the childhood game; she had spent many hours as a child giggling over Tiddlywinks with her Grandma Granger. As it was a thoroughly Muggle game, Hermione figured she'd never play it again.

The portrait swung open, and Hermione stepped through the revealed portal, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. The common room, she noticed, was bustling with students. In one corner, a group of second-years crowded around a table where two seventh-year students played a suspense-filled game of exploding snap. On the other side of the room, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sat with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. The girls were chatting about the latest info in the Gossip Column of the Daily Prophet, while the boys were predictably talking about the newest broom model.

Her eyes drifted about the room before settling on the three people she had wished were still in practice; Harry sat in the easy chair in front of the roaring fire, Ginny settled comfortably in his lap. Ron stood beside them, eyes focused on something no one else could see. The flames from the fireplace sent a warm glow flickering across his face, and despite the seriousness of his expression, Hermione felt the hard knot in her stomach soften. These were her friends. They'd stood by her side for ears; surely they wouldn't abandon her now, in a time of greatest need, because of one minor floater. Sure, she'd displayed a horrible lack of judgment, but that wouldn't be enough to turn her friends from her completely, would it?

The moment she stepped fully into the room, everyone went silent. Everyone seemed to find excuses to leave; Lavender suddenly found the urge to fix her hair, and of course Parvati had to go with her. Seamus and Dean muttered something about polishing their broomsticks, but slipped upstairs to their dorms, and the rest of the students indiscreetly followed their examples. Even the Exploding Snap game was brought to a shuddering halt, and the players bolted out of the common room, until only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were left.

With no one else to talk to, Hermione's eyes were inevitably drawn to her three best friends. Harry had risen to stand with Ron, leaving Ginny alone in the easy chair. All three were facing her, but only one looked even mildly pleasant. The younger redhead beckoned her older friend over to her chair with a smile, but before Hermione could join her, Ron stopped her progress across the room by clearing his throat loudly. The bookish witch stopped where she stood, eyeing the two grim wizards. Her boys looked very intimidating with their shoulders squared and their arms crossed, and she couldn't help but notice that they looked very angry as well. Hermione's smile disappeared, and her voice faltered as she tried to greet them. "Hi, everyone."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

WOOHOO! 100 REVIEWS! This has to be the happiest day of my life! Lol, I've never gotten this many reviews about… well, anything. As a monument to this achievement, I'd like to take a minute to recognize and thank my reviewers… (why does it sound like I'm receiving an Oscar or something? Lol)… and they are: Ophellia Immortal (sissy, I love you dearly!), TriGemini, Mojojojo, Fish Head the 3rd and Co, Nikki, Nikkuman, CareBearErin, mizzlanfear, smartcat, SelfHatred, anofeelings, ToraNoKo123, jessicariddle87, ProwlingKitKat, Can't be bothered to sign in…(who are you, I wonder!), DracosxonexandxonlyxLioness, itachi-sama a.k.a. cathrun, sare, House's Lil' Princess, bloodwitch88, BBMacintosh, Blackpants, teky1389, Peachy (I love you!), Shelby Cobra Queen, LosingTrack, Draco letifer res rei, Michelle Felton, meto, Avanell, LILHOUSELF, asianhomie101, the fading phoenix, closet fangirl, fannyficlover, goldensilver orbs, ilovetyler1213, Malfoy-Jacky, Lovelylady90, Princess-Rebel, Sora is 1337, sAsMo MaLfOy, fudgesuks, HarryPotterFreakEver, sevengee, darkmistwolf1991, little mimi, BIG fan, Lisa, gyrlfrend, Trojan Horse, malfille, lilnovelist, THE-GIRL-WHO-CRIED-WOLF, and jennykins31. Total cookies to all of you, and I hope dearly I don't get in trouble for recognizing you all. Next, I'd like to recognize my beta, **_Effluvious_**, who is the most amazing beta a person could ever ask for! Disclaimer. I disclaim. On to the story!

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

Last time: _Hermione's faint smile disappeared, and her voice faltered as she tried to greet them. "Hi, everyone."_

"Why would you do that?" Harry started the conversation with those first tense words. He was disarmingly quiet, but the force behind his voice told a tale of treachery. His arms were still crossed firmly over his chest, and his normally calm emerald eyes held an angry fire. She'd seen it several times, of course, but always aimed at someone else. Never before had she seen Harry turn his anger on her, and for just a moment, she was frightened.

"I'm not sure what you mean…" she started, confused. They all had their secrets; surely they couldn't be that angry with her for keeping her own. She knew for a fact that Ron had never told Harry about that mishap with Cho earlier this year; she was equally sure that Harry hadn't told Ron what he'd been doing in the closet with the youngest Weasley; therefore, they couldn't blame her for taking her time in telling them about her own little secret. Hermione was perfectly fine with defending her position… until an outburst from Ron shattered her control.

"Oh, cut the crap, Hermione!" he called out. His hands had dropped to his sides and were clenching and unclenching in fury, much like the muscles in his jaw. The sight would have been comical if it hadn't been so serious, and any moment she was sure his eye would start twitching uncontrollably. "You know exactly what we're talking about, and don't even try to deny it." Like Harry, his eyes were extremely expressive, distaste and anger easily discernable in their chocolate depths, but unlike with Harry, his voice carried his fury on silken wings, smoothly delivering it to where it would wound the most.

"Stop it, Ronald," Ginny said from her chair. She glared at her older brother, who was snorting like an irritated bull, before continuing. "What Hermione tells you or doesn't tell you is her business alone. She doesn't need you constantly over her shoulder, dictating her every move! If she wanted to shag Malfoy, that's because you obviously weren't doing something right!" The barb flew straight and true, and struck with a near-audible thud. For a second, Hermione almost thought Ron would stagger backwards under the weight of her defender's words, but when he merely towered over his sister, she knew the fight would not be so easily won. It took a moment for the brunette to absorb the fiery young witch's words. When she did, two and two came together in her mind, and she took her boys' stances in an entirely new light. There was no way this amount of anger was the result of her secret-keeping. With her luck, they probably had no _idea_ that she was adopted, which meant they were angry for a whole different reason. They were angry because… oh bugger all. Despite all the logic in her head, she couldn't help herself from thinking that the situation couldn't get worse. Which, of course, it did.

"Go upstairs, Ginny." Harry muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving Hermione's. "We don't need you here right now, so just… go upstairs."

"Why?" The young witch rose from her comfortable position, turning to her boyfriend. He faced her as well, and Hermione could only watch with a horrified expression as two of her best friends squared off, with the third watching closely nearby. It was like a train wreck; too horrible to watch, but morbid curiosity kept Hermione from looking away. "So you can stand down here and intimidate Hermione properly?" Ginny continued, fisting her hands at her hips. Her posture spoke volumes, but although Harry looked mildly impressed, he wasn't backing down. The redhead scoffed. "I think not! She doesn't need you baboons dogging her every step. She's perfectly capable of living-"

"Go upstairs, Ginny," Ron interrupted. He spoke to her like she was nothing but… well, nothing but an annoying younger sister. He never spoke to her that way, Hermione knew, unless he was hell-bent on destruction, or knew he could win the argument. It was much too dangerous to talk to her that way in any other circumstance. "This doesn't concern you. Let us handle this on our own, and you can complain later… but for now, just go away."

Judging by the look on Ginny's face, Hermione figured it best to divert their attention again, before the young redhead took out her aggression physically. "It's ok, Ginny," she called out quietly, causing her friends' heads to snap in her direction. It was almost as though they forgot she existed. _And I'm even the one they're arguing about! _"I can handle this myself."

"Are you sure?"

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that Ginny was only trying to help, but considering the possible outcomes of this argument, it would have been better if she would have caught the boys alone. She gave her best girlfriend a nod that reeked of faux-courage, and despite the urge to cause her boyfriend and brother eternal torment, Ginny receded. The young witch shot one more malicious glare at Harry and Ron before disappearing behind the door that led to the stone staircase. When she was safely out of earshot, Hermione turned back to the other members of the Trio.

"It never should have happened," she said quietly, eyes filling with tears from the icy glares fixed in her direction. All at once, she felt like giving up. Just let the boys yell and yell until there was no more rage left in them, then sit alone and cry until she had to leave for the holiday break. She could disappear into the new life she'd been given and completely avoid the overprotective friends that she loved as siblings. She could forget that she had ever been anything but Hermione Griswald, and start over new…

_But that's not you, is it, Hermione? Hermione Granger, Hermione Griswald, or otherwise; you would never back down from a challenge, especially from these two. _The voice in her head was starting to sound suspiciously like Malfoy, but what it was saying was true.

"Damn right, it shouldn't have!" Ron shouted, throwing his arms in the air, not caring in the slightest when the brunette skittered backwards.

Swallowing painfully, and wary of the growing rage in Harry's eyes (and Ron's flailing limbs), Hermione blinked back the tears and continued. "I know it shouldn't have happened, but I was…" she paused, and marveled at the stupidity of her next statement, "I was in the middle of a crisis and wasn't thinking properly." In retrospect, she realized how ridiculous her actions had been, how careless and dangerous. She knew that in stressful times, people didn't make sane decisions, but she couldn't help but wonder she had made that one.

"Like that even matters!" Ron exploded, finally allowing his anger to take over. Harry only looked on in a disproving air while Ron ranted at her, seemingly not even pausing to take in air. "I don't care what you're going through, the Hermione we know would never even _think_ about Malfoy that way. The Hermione _we_ know would sooner hex him than look at him! The Hermione we know hates Malfoy with a passion; I didn't think _our_ Hermione was capable of … of… _sleeping_ with him!"

_They don't know that I'm not the Hermione they thought they knew. They don't know…_ "Look, I'm not entirely sure you have the whole story," she started, crossing the common room to sit on one of the comfortably plump couches. Harry and Ron followed her with their eyes, but made no attempt to join her, accentuating their anger by the use of physical boundaries. "I'm not sure who told you, but they didn't tell you everything. Remember the potion we were researching the other day?" The boys nodded wearily. "Well, that's what Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about. Apparently…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing herself for a worst-case scenario, "Apparently, I'm adopted. I'm the only daughter of a very prestigious pureblood family."

She expected shock. She expected confusion. She even expected a screaming rage. What she did _not _expect was the complete indifference that shone from her friends' faces. They stared at her in stony silence, and she felt her resolve weakening.

"That makes it ok to betray five years of friendship and sleep with the son of a known Death Eater?" Harry asked flatly. He still hadn't moved from his intimidating stance, and stood over Hermione like a sentinel. She cringed unconsciously.

"I was confused, disoriented, and wanted to do something to make myself feel… like the new person I had just been told I was," she tried to explain, wondering why it seemed like the lamest excuse ever. "I wanted to do something as Hermione Griswald that Hermione Granger would never have done; I wanted someone to help me escape from reality," she confessed, glancing down in her lap at her clasped hands. "So I… slept with Malfoy."

"We heard from David," Harry finally said after a long moment of silence. "You couldn't even tell us; we had to hear from some Slytherin. Granted, he didn't have the whole story, but the _why_ doesn't matter nearly as much as the _whom_, Hermione. If you needed help, you should have come to us. To your friends. We would have understood." He turned, but instead of crossing to her, he went to the window, staring out into the cold darkness. Ron wasn't even looking at her anymore. He, too, was finding anything even remotely interesting to take his attention away from her, and it hurt her to the core.

"Instead of coming to us, though…" The redhead muttered. His voice sounded strained, as though it were taking all the energy he had to say these words. "Instead of coming to us, you went to Malfoy. Of all people, you went to some bloody Slytherin. And not just any Slytherin! NO, you fall right into the arms of the slimiest, scaliest one of them all." It was all she could do to nod in shame; the pain on Harry's face was phenomenal, but nothing compared to the anguish that showed bright and clear on Ron's. She wished she could say something, anything, to smooth the ripples she had caused, but there was nothing to say. Harry was at a loss for words himself. With nothing more than a whispered goodnight to his best friend, he left the room, not even glancing in Hermione's direction.

"Ron?" She murmured quietly, gazing at him through watery eyes. He turned to her and their gazes locked.

"Why Malfoy, Hermione? Why not me? Or Harry? Or, bloody hell, even Neville! We're your friends, and I don't care what kind of problems you're having. I don't care what kind of trouble you're in, or what you may think I'll say. I love you, and I would have been there for you."

Hold the phone. Hermione had always known that Ron harbored some kind of affection for her; it was brutally apparent in their fourth year when she dated Victor Krum for a time, and it was the root of their dating possibility… but love? How could he possibly _love_ her? He was barely of age; she wouldn't even cross that threshold for another month, and he already thought he was in love with her?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Ron continued with a weary smile. "I know I've never said it before, and now that I have, I won't say it again, at least for a while. Just the kind of person that I am." He took a small step in her direction, raising his hand as though to caress her cheek before stopping himself. "But it's true. I love you, Hermione Granger, and I wish I would have told you before. Maybe then you wouldn't have seen fit to go running to the rodent for comfort."

She had stopped listening when he said her name. 'I love you, Hermione Granger', he had said. Wasn't it odd, and just a little ironic, that she wasn't Hermione Granger anymore? "What about now, Ron?" She asked quietly, turning his declaration over and over in her head. "I'm neck deep in trouble now." Her voice was a whisper; she couldn't trust herself to speak any louder than that. "Are you still with me?"

"Now?" Swallowing thickly, Ron made his way to the door leading to the boys' dormitory. "Now, I need to think. Goodnight, Hermione." He disappeared into the shadows, and one by one, the lights in the common room flickered out. Defeated, Hermione sank into the couch and cried until the fire was no more than a pile of smoldering ashes.

When there were no tears left for her to cry, she wearily climbed the stairs to her dorm, where a shock of Arithmancy notes waited prettily on her bed. Pleased that Hannah had remembered her earlier request, and relieved to have something to take her mind of her worries, the Gryffindor reached for the note attached.

_Hermione;_

I know you said you'd retrieve the notes from Ms. Abbot, but when she was called out of class (through no fault of my own, I assure you), I thought you might still need them. Please owl them back to me when you have the information you need.

Disgusted, Hermione threw the note down on the bed, and glared at the stack of parchment, but she couldn't help her eyes straying to the regal signature on the bottom of the letter. _Sincerely and without regret, Draco Black Malfoy._

* * *

"I'm going to kill him, Harry."

"Don't pay any attention to him. Focus on your meal. We have a match in an hour, and you need to eat."

"But look at him! He's just sitting there without a care in the world!"

Harry and Ron were sitting side by side at the breakfast table, arguing under their breath about Malfoy's execution and preparing for their upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Despite the popular consensus of Gryffindor's superiority, Harry was nervous, and Ron's constant natter about sodding _Draco Malfoy_ was hindering his concentration.

"I'm telling you, someone's got to put him in his place!" Ron was complaining, glaring at the blond over his plate of syrupy waffles. Harry glanced over as well, and shook his head. The Slytherin sat facing the Gryffindor table, stone-faced and silent, only making a passing attempt to glare at Harry when he realized he was being watched. He simply wasn't worth the time and energy to worry about, not yet.

"I think you should let it go, Ron. You know Hermione won't make that mistake again, and there's nothing we can do about him now anyway. Not before the match. Think of the match, Ron. Focus on the match." Hypnosis probably wasn't the best way to go, but it was the only way he could think of at the moment. His energies were split between keeping a leash on his best mate and preparing his team's pep talk. Although being Quidditch captain had its perks, it definitely took a lot of time that wasn't already devoted to homework. Blocking out his teammate's prattle, Harry turned to gaze down the table at the empty spot that should have been Hermione's. He hadn't seen her this morning in the common room, and despite the fresh anger and betrayal, he was worried. With his luck, the confrontation last night had probably driven her right back into the arms of the same blond bastard that Ron was harping on about.

Ginny slid in beside him, and he smiled suggestively over at her, but was dismayed when she didn't even glance in his direction. "What's wrong, Gin?"

"Oh, couldn't you hazard a guess?" She replied harshly, pouring a small glass of orange juice before slamming the container back down onto the oak table. He turned as far as the matching oak bench would allow in her direction, and grasped one of her hands with his own.

"Tell me what's wrong, Ginny."

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Potter," she growled menacingly, jerking her hand away. He stared at her in shock as she continued, wincing as her voice rose with every word. "Do you actually think that, after last night's display of childish posturing, I'll simply allow you to go on as if nothing happened?"

The young redhead's voice was now alarmingly loud, and students within hearing distance peered over curiously, watching the Golden Couple's conflict with interest. "I don't understand, Gin," he whispered, trying not to look around at the eyes that stared on, "Last night had nothing to do with you!"

"Not at all, eh?" Ginny bit back a bout of spiteful laughter. "No, it was all about control, wasn't it?" She stood from her spot, and despite the goggling eyes of onlookers, rounded on her boyfriend. "Hermione acted in a way you couldn't control, and you went off the deep end. Then I stepped in, and you _had_ to control my actions, didn't you?" The small girl had puffed up; despite her height disadvantage, she looked as though she'd grown three feet in the past two minutes. Harry gulped. "What was it you said, Harry Potter? 'Go upstairs, Ginny, this doesn't concern you'? Well, it most certainly concerns me now, doesn't it, Potter?"

As Ginny went on, the raven-haired boy directly n the line of fire felt himself shrinking. By the time she had reached his surname, he felt all of about two inches tall. His mouth went completely dry as his girlfriend, the most wonderful part of his life, turned and began to walk away. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand shot out and gripped her arm: "Wait."

Cold brown eyes locked on to his saddened emerald ones, and for a minute, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief; then, she spoke. "I'll see you on the pitch, Captain." With that, Ginny wrested her arm free of Harry's grip, and left the Great Hall amidst a round of cheers.

Defeated, The-Boy-Who-Finally-Met-His-Match sat back in his place at the table, and hit his head three times on the hard tabletop.

"Sometimes I pity you, mate." Ron whispered, Malfoy forced from his mind by his sister's fireworks. Harry only nodded.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**_Last time:_ **

_Defeated, The-Boy-Who-Finally-Met-His-Match sat back in his place at the table, and hit his head three times on the hard tabletop._

_"Sometimes I pity you, mate." Ron whispered, Malfoy forced from his mind by his sister's fireworks. Harry only nodded._

Chapter Fourteen 

Unknown to the three Gryffindors, two other people were watching the exchange with much more interest than the average onlooker. Draco looked on intently with aching eyes, his interest peaked the instant the She-Weasel had yelled Hermione's name. He had spent the previous night awake with Blaise, devising an ingenious plot to win Hermione over without ever lifting a finger, and was very tired as a result, but that didn't keep him from searching the Hall for her. Nor, it seemed, from gleaning every detail from the argument the redheaded witch was carrying on with the Boy Wonder. Blaise, oddly alert and in no way disheveled despite his late night, also took interest in the ensuing fight, for no other reason than the redheaded witch herself. Both watched with rising levels of interest as Potter grasped his girlfriend's arm, and Blaise chuckled lightly when the raven-haired Gryffindor was so obviously put in his place.

"Weaslette certainly has a way about her, doesn't she?" The Italian mused after breakfast as he and Draco made their way to the Quidditch Pitch. Distracted, Draco made a sound that closely resembled a muffled sneeze; an acknowledgement that could have been taken as agreement, disagreement, or complete indifference. Blaise carried on, completely oblivious to his best mate's preoccupied state. "Did you see how easily she made Potter fall to his knees? With a temper like that, I don't think even _I'd_ be able to take her." Blaise was infamous for his power over the opposite sex. It wasn't _control_, per se, but with his dashing Italian good looks, wealth, and inherent charisma, it wasn't long before any particular female was turned to a melting pile of hormones. His admittance that the youngest of the Weasley clan would be difficult for him to tame was a testament to the respect he held for her obviously formidable presence. He chuckled for a moment at the thought, but when Draco failed to join in his good humor, ceased abruptly. "What's your problem, mate? I would have thought seeing Potter taken down a notch would have put you in a right pleasant mood."

Aware that he was being addressed directly, Draco was able to pull himself out of his thoughts long enough to ask solemnly, "Did you see Griswald sitting with her loser friends this morning?" His brows were drawn together, and his eyes held the faraway look one would most often see on Luna Lovegood's face. In truth, it was surprising he could make conversation at all. He was too busy imagining all the possible trouble the Gryffindor witch could have gotten herself into. The scenarios went from bad to worse in his mind with barely a pause for breath, starting with her falling asleep over a Potions essay and missing a full week of class, and ranging all the way to being torn limb from limb by a rogue Devil's Snare. These horrendous thoughts grew in vividness and clarity until Draco had to physically shake himself from their grasp. _Get a grip on yourself, Draco. This obsession you have on her could on the verge of being deemed unhealthy. Nothing so insane could have happened to her in the last 10 hours. She's probably just sleeping in, or chatting it up with one of her little girlfriends._

"You've really got to take it easy, mate," Blaise grimaced mockingly. "Has anyone told you that this obsession you've got on her could be a little… unhealthy?" Draco purposely ignored the similarity between the two comments, and instead glared scathingly at his companion, who shrugged. "Lighten up. No, Draco, I didn't see your _lover_ at the table this morning."

"Neither did I," the blond muttered in response, absentmindedly dodging tufts of weeds and patches of loose pebbles, before coming to a complete stop at the entrance to the spectator stands. "Neither did I." Not another word was uttered between the two until midway through the Quidditch game.

Draco watched with disgust as The-Seeker-Who-Wouldn't-Just-Die-Already shot around, in between, and behind the Ravenclaw beaters. The Boy Wonder had obviously seen the Snitch, which was a pity, because the game hadn't even been going 20 minutes. So involved was he with wishing the Gryffindor Seeker's untimely demise that he hardly felt Blaise's hand rest heavily on his shoulder. "What is it, Blaise?" He asked shortly, annoyed that this friend had interrupted his mantra of 'Die, Potter, die.' That annoyance was quickly curbed when his companion gestured in the direction of the Gryffindor stands; one Gryffindor with bushy brown hair sat alone on the lowest bench, bundled in a heap of robes and wrapped in some monstrosity she probably called a scarf.

A ripple of relief that started from the back of neck and went all the way to his toes rocked the blond, and for a moment, he was startled at the ferocity of his feelings. It wasn't until Blaise gave him a swift shake that he spoke. "I'm going to go talk with her." Without waiting for any response on the Italian's part, Draco rose from his seat and made his way to the aisle.

Earlier That Day 

Hermione lay awake the next morning, staring blankly at the drapes on her bed. Although she had stopped crying long ago, countless hours of sleep had been lost to the demon of Indecision, and now her puffy red eyes drifted lazily over the enchanted coverings. Today was Saturday; she had no classes today, and the only noteworthy event taking place was the long-awaited Ravenclaw/Gryffindor Quidditch match, which she could easily avoid attending. If she chose, she needn't come into contact with anyone all weekend. She could happily close herself away in her dorm, doing schoolwork and the like, until Monday approached and forced her out of her self-imposed seclusion. The brunette could sit on her bed all day long and ponder the repercussions of her ill-taken midnight tryst with Malfoy. Intending to do just that, Hermione ignored the calls of Lavender and Parvati at breakfast, claiming that she had slept little the night before (which was true for the most part) and would get something at lunch. That did the trick, and once the two gossips were safely outside Gryffindor Tower, Hermione found it much easier to settle down and contemplate her actions.

As she saw it, she had three options. Option A was quite appealing at the moment; sit and do nothing to solve the rift she had created in her strongest friendship, and sail easily into this new life as Hermione Griswald. Option B, while less attractive, certainly made more sense; apologize on her hands and knees to her two best friends in the world, and hope they took her back. Option C, however, seemed equally operable; tell those two no-good scheming male friends of hers that they had no room whatsoever telling her what she could and could not do, and make the best of the rest of her Sixth year at Hogwarts alone, but with her pride (and her sanity) intact. Unfortunately for the bookish brunette, none of these options explained to her what to do about what she had deemed 'The Malfoy Incident'. She knew that their one intimate night together was a fluke; she had just had the greatest shock of her life, and wasn't thinking clearly, while he had certainly just discovered she was a pureblooded witch, therefore making her eligible for hunt. Even though she knew that there was nothing, could never _be_ anything, between them, she couldn't help but shiver as her body remembered how snugly he had fit within her. She couldn't help but smile slightly as she remembered how easily they had bantered just a few days earlier in the library, before she had opened her big fat mouth and ruined their shaky camaraderie. She couldn't help but remember the fire in his eyes as he told her not to presume to know what he thought about her.

Nothing was making sense to her anymore, and skipping breakfast wasn't the smartest way to fuel her thinking process, so in a move completely uncharacteristic of the Gryffindor witch, Hermione Flooed the kitchens, and asked the house-elves to bring her up a little something. Dobby did so with a flourish, but when she offered a Galleon to the small creature, he denied it with a single sentence; "Friend of Harry Potter accept this as a favor," and disappeared with a pop.

Satisfied with her strawberries-and-cream breakfast, Hermione decided that hiding in her dorm for the last couple of weeks before the Yule break was not the easiest way to move on in her life. It was then that she made what could alternately be considered the best and the worst decision of her life; she chose to attend the Quidditch game. She sat alone in the bottom row of the Gryffindor section, praying that she would go unnoticed, but it was not meant to be. Without her consent, Hermione's eyes drifted over to where a small group of Slytherin students were sitting, and in an unfortunate turn of events, made eye contact with the student closest to Malfoy in every way; Blaise Zabini. She turned away quickly when she saw the Italian nudge the blond with one hand, but it didn't save her from seeing him rise from his seat.

She didn't just notice his approach; she felt it with every fiber of her being. His aura simply sang of confidence, and she could sense the waves of self-implied superiority oozing off of him as the sea of students between them parted to allow him entry. It wasn't so much as the Red Sea parting for Moses; the students recognized him for exactly who he was; a powerful young wizard on a very important mission, and chose to get out of his way rather than to stand in it. The brunette watched carefully out of the corner of her eye as he came to a stop inches from her knee. He was close enough to touch her, and part of her wished he would, but she knew it wouldn't be so. She knew that she was just as much a dalliance to him as he was to her; what she didn't understand is why her brain understood that, but her body wouldn't. She continued to crave his touch, even as much as she wished he would just leave her alone.

When it appeared obvious that he wouldn't be the first to speak, Hermione broke the blessed silence. "What do you want?" Her voice wasn't particularly cold, but neither was it warm and welcoming.

"Just to see how you're doing." Draco responded lightly before gesturing to the open spot on the bench beside her. "Is this seat available?" Ignoring her shake of the head, he sat dangerously close to her, allowing their thighs to brush lightly against each other, a move that could be taken as either blatant flirtation or accidental contact. Neither option seemed favorable to the Gryffindor, but there wasn't much she could do without calling very unwanted attention to herself. "So, how are you?" He asked a moment later.

"Very well, thank you," Hermione replied, and continued to watch the game. Even in the din of the stadium, the silence stretched between them as a void; a void that Draco was anxious to bridge. After a few minutes of her continued aloofness, he spoke again.

"Did you receive the notes I sent you?"

She nodded, but still did not look at him. Irritated with her continued silence, he opened his mouth to say more when turned slightly towards him, effectively lodging the words in his throat.

"Why did you give them to me?" She asked quietly, averting her eyes in an uncharacteristically meek gesture. "I was a perfect git to you, and still…"

Draco shrugged and gave a slight smirk, replying easily, "I just wanted to make sure my girl was taken care of." Despite the light tone, he was scared to death of her reaction. He had called her his girl; he had made sure to put his claim on her in words. Unfortunately, she reacted just the way he suspected she would; not so well. In the space of an instant, she went from meek and subdued to stiff and defensive.

"I'm not your girl," she ground out coldly between clenched teeth, staring at the Ravenclaw seeker so hard she was surprised he hadn't burst into flames. Outwardly, she was displaying all the signals of someone obscenely offended; inside, she nearly thrilled at the possessive words his voice carried to her. "Honestly!" she snorted, then immediately regretted it. Snorting wasn't very attractive… but as Draco's eyes filled with icy anger, she forgot that she was trying to be.

"We spend time together," Draco started, voice quiet and controlled as he leaned toward her on the bench, "We've slept together. You're not seeing anyone…I'm not seeing anyone. Why can't you be my girl?" He whispered the last sentence into her ear, making carefully sure that his breath caressed her exposed flesh. She shivered accordingly before pulling away as far as her seated position would allow her.

"The only time we ever spend together is spent arguing," she pointed out succinctly, "and I'm not seeing anyone for one simple reason; I don't want to." Her heart broke as she said those words. Each syllable was an icy dagger plunged into her back, and a direct contradiction to what she was really feeling, but could she tell him that? Could she, under any circumstances, tell the Slytherin Prince that she wanted him more with each passing second? Could she surrender herself, her blessed control, to someone who's feelings for her were still a mystery?

His eyes softened at the anguish in her voice, and his hand unwittingly moved to rest upon her knee; she jerked back like she'd been burned, and his resolve crumbled. "Hermione, please. Just talk to me. What do you want? Gold? I've got that in abundance. Diamonds? I'll buy you any you could ever care to own." His throat was dry and his voice turned raspy as his desperation grew. Plan? What plan? "Do you want an island? I could have the deed in your hand by Wednesday. Just tell me what you need, what I need to give you to make you my own, and I'll be your slave."

He offered her all but what she really wanted. He could offer her the sun, the moon, and the stars, but none of it would come close to touching that one thing she desired most. "Family." She said quietly, appalled by her forwardness. "I want family, Draco, and there's nothing you can do to give me that." She gathered her coverings around her, and rose from the bench, making it barely three feet before Draco's voice stopped her.

"Your presence is requested at the Malfoy Manor over Yule Break," his voice was full of an emotion thought to be long dead within him; hope. "Come home with me, Hermione, and you shall have your family." She didn't bother to reply; she just turned and walked away, leaving the blond Slytherin alone with his thoughts.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_There has to be more to life than this,_ Hermione thought to herself. For the third day in a row, she sat at the Hufflepuff table with Hannah Abbot at dinner, discussing homework and wishing desperately to be sitting back with her friends at the Gryffindor table. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Hannah's effort to include her in the discussion; to the contrary, Hermione was very grateful for the distraction, but nothing could replace the easy camaraderie she felt with her own kind.

Amused at the thought, she snorted. _Her own kind_. What a joke that turned out to be. Neither Harry nor Ron had even glanced in her direction since the fight four days previous. Ginny had tried to make an effort, but her attachment to the Boy Who Lived proved difficult to overcome. In order to save her friend the heartache that inevitably came with choosing between a best friend and a boyfriend, Hermione had reassured the redhead that she would completely understand if Ginny were to 'take Harry's side' in this argument. The words alone didn't stop the slight bitterness soon thereafter, when Ginny stopped coming to the library between classes, and chose to seat herself directly next to the raven-haired wizard everyday at lunch.

Through all this, the only other person who seemed to make any attempt with her at all was none other than the cause of all her problems; Draco Malfoy. As the month waned and the holiday break loomed closer, the determined Slytherin had pursued her with more fervor than she'd ever seen him apply to any subject other than Quidditch. It started the morning after their meeting at the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game; an owl fluttered at her window holding a letter sealed with green wax. The content was simple; an enquiry to her mental health, a request that she meet with him to discuss their travel plans over Yule Break, a fond farewell… but every word Hermione read was like a physical blow. It was bad enough coming to terms with the fact that it seemed Draco Malfoy, Pureblood Prince of the Slytherin dungeons, had been harboring hidden affection for her even _before_ he discovered her true lineage, but accepting that _and_ the request that she accompany him to Malfoy Manor over the holiday break was nothing short of insanity. After sending the owl on its way with a treat in its beak, the elegantly signed parchment fell unanswered into the wastepaper basket.

This morning, before breakfast, the enormous tawny owl had drifted noiselessly through her open window, landing on her desk in a flurry of quiet wings. He had clicked his beak expectantly at her as she removed the third timely letter from his leg, and she obliged him with a quick treat before he hooted softly and disappeared into the brightening horizon. With a small sigh, Hermione broke the green and silver wax seal and unfurled the piece of parchment. Scanning it quickly, a forbidden smile came to her face, and she laid it on her bed, next to the only other one she hadn't thrown away. The first she had disposed of because of its abnormality; in a world that was ever changing, she had wished for something to stay the same. Normal Hermione Granger didn't receive polite letters flavored with longing from Normal Draco Malfoy. When the second letter came, it included an entertaining anecdote describing, in graphic detail, how he and Daphne, the other Slytherin prefect, had caught two younger Ravenclaw students in the Astronomy Tower after curfew. It had made her smile, more than anything else had in the past few hours, so she kept it. This letter included a tiny comic, revolving around Snape, a bottle of shampoo, and McGonagall's wand, that served to make her laugh out loud. With a small smile, she had put the second and third letter in a clean cigar box, but not before she had glanced one last time at the elegant signature at the bottom of the parchment: _Draco Black Malfoy_.

_There has to be more to life than this,_ Draco thought to himself as he idly stirred his soup. He sat near the head of the Slytherin table at supper with, as usual, Blaise close by on his left, and Crabbe and Goyle across from him. Pansy had taken it upon herself to sit at his right hand, but even she sensed his swiftly tilting mood and remained silent. For the past three days, Draco had been kicking himself. Three nights ago, he made a complete and utter fool of himself. Even after declaring to Blaise that he'd make his Gryffindor come to him, he very nearly prostrated himself at her feet, begging her to be with him. That, of course, had ended in her rushing away from him, most likely laughing at his pathetic attempt to woo her. Still, that didn't keep him from sending her a letter each morning thereafter, polite and to the point: He was a Malfoy, and as such, he did have a great deal of pride… but he couldn't very well let her think he'd lost interest, could he? And so the pride was lost, awash in fear that he would lose her through neglect.

The morning that Draco wrote the first letter, he was overcome by a sudden case of writer's block. As an elaborately eloquent young man, the Slytherin was appalled at his sudden inadequacy, and in a rush of self-absorbent panic, he scrawled some polite bullshit, and sent the note on its way with no mean, no _hook_. As soon as he sent the owl, he wished he could have called it back. _She won't even get past the first sentence_, he scowled, despairing in his own way. _All she'll see is 'Good Morning Miss Griswald,' and the silly bint will toss it before she reads another word._

Blaise chose that precise moment to silently cross the threshold of the room. Happening upon a grudgingly emotional Draco Malfoy was a too rare, and too valuable, occurance. Being the master opportunist he was, the sly Italian spent a quiet moment observing every nuance of emotion filtering across the blond's face unawares, familiarizing himself with each as they registered so clearly in his sight before clearing his throat to announce his presence.

Draco jerked quickly from the doorway, throwing on his flawless façade of apathy and boredom. "Hey, Blaise. Up early, I see?"

Blaise smirked at the other Slytherin's pathetic attempt to cover for himself. "You know perfectly well I'm up at the same time every morning," he pointed out, crossing the otherwise empty common room to sit in the chair opposite his childhood friend. "You were sending something to Hermione. How do you think that's going to work out for you?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out," Draco mumbled, looking out the door with expertly disguised wistfulness that Blaise couldn't help but notice.

As that day died, and the whole of Slytherin retreated into their comfortable dungeon common room, Blaise approached Draco. "So…?" he entreated, looking on with curiosity as he tried Draco's slowly-thinning patience.

"She didn't write back." The frosty blond replied, his words curt and his voice brisk with icy tension.

"Let me guess," Blaise chuckled, leaning back on his elbows on the ledge behind him.

"Tell me how I do. You called her by her new last name." Draco gave a single nod, no more than a rapid up-down of the chin, so small you could hardly notice. Blaise noticed. "You asked 'how she was feeling'. You mentioned her coming holiday trip." He ticked off each sentence on his fingers, smirk growing just a bit wider with every up-down of Draco's head. "And lastly, you were rushed and terribly _polite_." When Draco nodded even to the last sentence, his companion threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat. When all the blond could do was look on in confusion, his darker classmate sighed.

"Draco, my boy, you aren't as well-versed in the needs of the fairer sex as you claim. Lets start with your intro. Calling her Griswald anything reminds her of a terribly traumatic event that ended up leading to, in her mind, her worst spur of the moment decision in a long time, a particularly traumatic even in its own right." He barreled on, subtly paying close attention to the increase in wrinkles around Draco's 'smile line'- free eyes. "Asking her how she was doing? Direct reference to either The Night, The Fight, or both, either or both of which she is currently in turmoil over. The holiday trip? Again, referring to traumatic experiences. Etiquette? How can I adequately describe the amount of wrong that goes hand in hand with including _etiquette_ in any sort of 'day after' letter. You screwed this one up bad, mate. Good luck."

Draco's chin lowered momentarily in an uncharacteristic sprinkle of guilt. He had put this much thought into any of the words he put on that piece of parchment. He wrote what he thought had been a perfectly polite piece, and sent it on its way to show what he thought was respect. Listening to Blaise, however, had reminded him that females had a tendency to experience things more emotionally. He was such a git. "I don't deserve the title of 'Master'," he exclaimed, bowing his head to a smirking Blaise. "You have so much insight to the female psyche… Sometimes, I do wonder about your extreme holidays into ponciness…" And although the night ended in a friendly (and physically violent) spat, Draco included in his next two letters more entertaining bits of information, and called her Granger for good measure. He even took care in only making a cursory mention of her Yule trip (he did, still, remember the orders from his father). It was time to see if his effort had paid off.

Present Time and Place 

"She's sitting over there with the Hufflepuffs." Blaise pointed out for the third time that meal.

"I know!" Draco huffed (also for the third time) in a play at indifference. Still, his eyes drifted unbid over her petite form, as the had been doing periodically for the past three days.

"Go talk to her!" Blaise whined mockingly, scowling at any who dared look at him curiously for his odd behavior.

"Not yet!" the outwardly aloof aristocrat hissed, quickly adjusting his gaze so that he stared solemnly into barely-touched Alfredo. "After dinner," he amended, catching the heat of his best friend's gaze. "I'll talk to her then, when she goes to the library."

True to his word, twenty minutes later a well-disguised-frantic Malfoy cornered an unknowing Gryffindor in her own very favorite corner of the library.

"Evening, Granger," a cultured voice drawled, a warmly-cloaked Draco Malfoy emerging from the shadows. Hermione exhaled in a put-on huff, inwardly pleased (and disgusted with herself for it) that he sought her out in person, on his own, than trying to tempt her into contacting him with more useless (but quirkily entertaining) letters.

_Maybe there's more honor in him than I thought_… shaking the thought from her head, she subtly shifted her books so they covered more of the table. "There's not room to study here, Malfoy," she intoned, keeping her voice down in fear of Madame Pince's wrath even when she would have growled the words. "But there are plenty of empty tables. Make like a no…" Her jaw snapped shut, awkward and embarrassed at what favorite (and terribly corny) phrase she was about to use. Taken aback by her own carelessness, a helpless giggle arose in her throat, until she was laughing quietly to herself.

Surprised and pleased by the sudden laughter the woman across from him was emitting, Draco slowly let a smile come to his lips. Before he knew it, his own quiet laughter rang out in dysfunctional harmony with hers, until they were both chortling so hard tears streamed down their faces. "You weren't gonna say it, were you, Granger?" He asked between gulps of air and hearty chuckles, having finally sat down and given in to the giddy laughter.

"I really was!" Hermione gasped, her self-depreciating laughter calming as well.

"Make like a novel and book," Draco mocked aloud, sending them both into a fresh round of cackles. After a few more seconds of uncontrollable guffawing, both students managed to get their humor under control, and in the newly established, unnaturally quiet library silence, neither found they could look at the other. Instead, they focused on the shelves around them, the books on the shelves, even dust mites on those books, simply so they wouldn't have to make eye contact.

"Well," Draco said when he couldn't stand the silence anymore. "I should probably…" and without finishing his sentence, he rose from his chain, turning toward the maze of shelves that led to the library entrance. Before he could make it very far, a small voice behind him sounded. "Wait."

After having the most relaxed moment in the past three days, Hermione couldn't bear to just let Malfoy walk away without at least knowing that his visit had helped. She could give him that, if nothing else. "Wait." Or, maybe she _could _give him something else. When he turned around, their eyes met for the first time that night. "Thank you," she said quietly, already wondering why she'd called him back.

"Anytime," he responded quietly. When she didn't speak for a moment more, he raised an elegant eyebrow. "Well, if that's all…" Once more he turned to leave, and once more, her voice stopped him.

"Tell your parents," she choked over her own words for a moment, astonishing herself with what she was saying. "Tell them I'd love to experience and enjoy their offered hospitality, if it's not too late."

For the second time that day, Malfoy smiled at her. Unknowingly melting her insides into ooey-gooey goodness. "I'm sure there will be no fuss."

Later that night, a pale, blonde woman opened a light enveloped sealed in green wax, and read a message scrawled in hasty reluctance;

_She's coming home._

_D. M._

A/N: Sorry about the absurdly long wait between updates. I lost my computer for a little while, due to some technical difficulties, and then couldnt get internet access. I am back, however, and hopefully wont leave you guys hanging for so long again:( please dont hate me? or... review, and tell me how much you hate me, lol


	17. Chapter Sixteen

A/N: **_Happy holidays, everyone! Think of this as a tiny little prezzie; it hasn't been edited all the way through, and might seem a little off balance, but I couldn't_** NOT**_ give you guys at least something, lol. I had to let you knwo that I still do plan to work on this fic:D _**

**_A little update about the prologue: I have posted a revised version of the prologue, and I do hope you'll take a look. I plan on editing and updating all the previous chapters, and yes, I may add or change things that might affect the plot, so I would reccomend rereading:S I know its a lot to ask, but I'll only do it one chapter at a time, so hopefully it'll be a little easier? Anywho, enjoy your prezzie!_**

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**Chapter 16**

The end of the week came much the same as the beginning for Hermione; silence from her 'best' friends, comic letters from her 'worst enemy', and mountains of homework due a week after she returned from the Yule holiday. Still, it seemed to fly by as the beginning had refused to. After three more days of disappointment, bitterness, and barely restrained giggles, Hermione packed her bags for her first holiday away from her family… or maybe her first holiday _with_ them. Her hands shook as she folded her last blouse and tucked it carefully away with the others, and with the harsh finality of any executioner, shut the lid and locked it carefully closed. With a whispered word and the flick of her wand, the tightly sealed trunk took its place with the rest of the next day's luggage, nestled carefully between her book-trunk and Crookshanks' cage. _Tomorrow's the day_, she thought wistfully, letting her pounding head fall back. Uttering a soft, low moan, she began to rotate her head this way and that, trying so hard to relieve the stress tension in her muscles, but nothing seemed to work.

Tomorrow, the day she was trying so hard not to think about, was the day that she and her newly discovered family would meet for the first time, on ground that was _supposed_ to be considered neutral. It wasn't really anyone's fault that Hermione didn't consider that ground neutral by any means. Really, the Malfoy's didn't even know her personally; they only knew that she was friends with 'that Potter brat' their precious Master moaned about so consistently, and that she bested their own flesh and blood in every academic situation (save for Potions). It really wasn't the Malfoys' or the Griswalds' fault that Hermione knew the Malfoys for the prejudice upper-class aristocrats that they really were. Despite their intentions, however twisted they may be, the Malfoys _were_ opening their home to her in hopes that she be more comfortable meeting a family she never knew she had, and in spite of her own distrust of those people, she couldn't help but be grateful for their attempt to help. With a loud sigh, Hermione curled up on her window seat, and watched with silent remorse as the sun went down on what was truly her last day as Hermione Granger.

The next morning's sunrise found Draco Malfoy sitting quietly on his bed, staring at his open trunk with a sense of trepidation, muddled with odd excitement. Never before had he been so thoroughly confused as he was at this very moment. He stood, torn, between delight and abject terror, all because of one young girl's first visit with her family. Would she love her parents for working so hard to find her? Would she hate them for abandoning her? Would his home, and the wealth that went hand in hand, intimidate or impress her? Could he show her another, better side of him before her two baboon's came to their senses, and worked together to poison her against him? Because no one was around to hear, the blond let a nervous sigh slip from his mouth before shutting his suitcase with a flourish.

"It's about time you were finished," a feminine voice called from the doorway. Draco's shoulders twitched as he barely suppressed a nervous jump, and sneered at Pansy, who looked quite at home leaning comfortably against the rich oak doorpost. That sneer quickly turned into a guttural snarl when the raven-haired Slytherin sauntered into the room uninvited, perching on the corner of the Prefect's large bed, smoothing the emerald green comforter as she smiled up at him. "I'm so looking forward to this holiday, aren't you?" Before he could snap out a witty retort, Pansy laughed. He used to think it was a musical sound, a sound he would one day spend the rest of his life hearing; for the past year, it only served to irritate him. "Of course you're enjoying your holiday; you get to spend it with pretty little Mudblood Granger. Oops!" She held one finely-manicured hand to her offending mouth, not entirely hiding the vicious smirk that played on her lips. "I apologize; the little Griswald slut. Oh, oops again!" This time she didn't bother to hide her malicious laughter; it echoed in the dungeon room, pealing like a deformed bell, ringing in Draco's ears until he visibly cringed.

"You're the one who told Potter and Weasley," he stated, not doubting his words for a moment. He knew it was the truth as solidly as he knew his own name. Still, he was slightly perplexed when the woman in his room shook her head with a wide grin.

"Not me, Drake, never me. I would _never_ betray you in such a way!" Pansy exclaimed, her smile widening the slightest bit.

"David, then," Draco amended, the truth of the words ringing in the way they fell from his lips. David would do anything Pansy asked, no matter how devious or sinister. Hell, he expected that the first year would run into the Forbidden Forest naked if his older cousin told him to. Sure enough, the sixth year girl giggled.

"You always _were_ very perceptive, Drake." A more sincere smile graced her face this time, lighting it in a way he hadn't seen for years as she girlishly tucked a lock of midnight hair behind her ear, and locked her gaze with his. "Thankfully, you won't have to suffer her annoying presence for too long," she stated, taking a more sober tone. "My parents have already received their invitation to your party, and look forward to visiting. The also look forward to meeting the 'delightful' Griswald child," she hissed. "I'll see you then." With grace he hadn't known she possessed, Pansy Parkinson glided out of the room.

"Well, its good to see that _she_ hasn't changed," a familiar voice called from the shadow of the hall beyond the door. Draco smiled, a genuine smile, the first time that morning as Blaise swept in, winter cloak bound tightly about his neck. "I was getting worried; everyone else seems to be showing different colors; I'm glad some people are still their rotten selves."

"Happy Christmas, Blaise," the blond Slytherin greeted his friend with a hearty clap on the back.

"Happy Christmas, Drake." Blaise returned the smile heartily. "Are you ready to get this holiday break over with?"

"Moreso than you could imagine."

"Hermione, hurry! You'll be late; the carriages are leaving in five minutes!" a frantic Lavender Brown called up the stairs from the common room to the girls' Prefect room. "Leave your trunks for the house elves! They'll take them for you!"

With a defeated sigh, Hermione descended the steps two at a time. "I should leave them a tip, don't you think?" she asked as she twirled the ends of her Gryffindor-red scarf between gloved fingers.

"They'll be fine," Parvati assured as the three girls rushed out of Gryffindor tower. "You know they wouldn't take it anyway."

"I know," Hermione sighed, wistfully wishing they weren't walking so fast. Brave Gryffindor or not, Hermione was reluctant to leave behind the safety of the school. She knew the minute she stepped off the grounds, her new life would begin, and there would be no going back. Despite her hurry, she stopped one last time to gaze back on the castle of Hogwarts.

"Come on, Hermione, we've got to go!" Paying no attention to the obvious distress the other girl was in, Parvati grabbed the sleeve of Hermione's simple black robe and pulled her along. "We'll be back in just a few days. You can't possibly miss the place already."

As they approached their destination, Hermione couldn't help but let her eyes roam the crowd, looking for three very familiar faces. There! Far ahead of them, two red-heads and a messy black one bobbed through the crowd, heading toward freedom. Her heart sank as she remembered that this would be the first holiday she wouldn't spend with her best friends; they always saw each other for at least a brief period over the break, and this time, they wouldn't even look her in the eye. She couldn't help but wonder at the amount of fun they were having without her, watching with despair as they jumped and laughed, throwing snowballs and generally making merry as she was so far away, and drawing still further.

"Oh, lookie, Hermione!" Lavender squealed as they reached the platform where the carriages waited to take them to the Hogwarts Express. Hermione followed her gaze until she found the subject of her obvious excitement, and the one person she didn't want to see; one very well-coifed Draco Malfoy. A hundred different emotions warred to be released at once, but somehow the brunette kept them silent. Instead of throwing herself onto the platform floor and giving in to the childish tantrum that was slowly growing inside of her, she took a deep breath, and excused herself from her mates.

His greeting to her, the small speech he'd prepared and spent plenty of time practicing all but abandoned him when he saw her square her shoulders and approach him with that stoic Gryffindor bravery she had preached to him about. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth; he couldn't utter a coherent sentence to save his life, and when they were finally face to face, she spoke and broke the spell.

"Mal.. er, Draco. Hello." She spoke quietly, as though raising her voice would make her actions real. He admired her confidence.

"Hermione," he greeted warmly, quickly gripping her hand in his, an action that could be mistaken as a brief handshake… or something much more intimate. Without giving her time to question his motives, he put a hand to the small of her back, and guided her to the carriage he'd already picked out. "After you." She reluctantly took his offered hand, and allowed him to help her into the carriage. The holiday was going well already.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

A/N: Sorry about the length between updates. I dont really have a good excuse for this one, except that I'm a bad writer and got stuck with major blockage.. again.

Congrats to me! I've picked up a second part time job, so I might be very busy for the next month. I've got a week till i start training, so I'll try to get a little more written for you guys for the time that I'm gone.

Anyway... enjoy. Its all pretty raw, so dont hurt me:(

Chapter 17

The carriage ride from the school to the train station was less than twenty minutes, but there couldn't have been more tension in the air. Draco had opted to sit across from Hermione, allowing him to both take comfort that she was getting the space she so seemed to need… and the chance to take in lines of her face. From the top of her wispy bangs to the soft, subtle curve of her chin, he lost himself in her presence, and scolded himself for every glance.

The blond watched in silence as the young woman twisted and fidgeted under his very direct and unapologetic stare. While most of him was sincerely moved for her obvious distress and discomfort, a small part of him was maliciously gleeful to know he had such an effect on her. However practiced the youngest Malfoy was at hiding his true emotions, he had no practice hiding malicious glee; that was the one emotion he displayed with frequency. This lack of training let slip a sort of half-smirk; it touched the corner of his mouth only for a very short time, and slightly sporadically. Knowing what he was doing, and powerless to stop it, Draco chose to stir the air and bring an end to the dead silence.

"What would you like-" No sooner had he opened his mouth than the stubborn Gryffindor witch had opened hers; "What do you think they'll-". Both mouths audibly snapped shut when they realized their companion was talking; both students submit to a secret chuckle at his or her own silliness. "After you," Draco insisted, his ingrained charm and chivalry momentarily tamping down his own urge to speak.

"That's the second time today you've made that same offer, Malfoy," his companion said quietly, her demeanor subdued, her wide brown eyes cast down to the floor in a physical admittance of rare shyness.

"Ladies first always, Hermione," Draco said, using her given name on purpose, to both let her know he was comfortable enough around her to do so, and not giving any more voice to thought of the people she was soon to meet. "Despite the brash Gryffindors you must be so used to, some men still believe in chivalry. And you used my given name earlier," he added, raising one eyebrow when she leveled a cold glare in his direction, "I much preferred it that way."

"Chivalry died with sexist oppression," she bit out, visibly fighting the urge to spit at him. "You first."

"Very well," Draco said pleasantly, and crossed his arms behind his head. Eyes fixing on the ceiling to give her a semblance of privacy, he restated the question that had been plaguing him since the beginning of this whole mess. "What is the first thing you're going to ask about your parents?" Hermione went abruptly silent, causing him to assume she had abandoned the conversation. He sat up quickly to entice her back, but was greeted instead with a pensive expression that made her already attractive features even more breathtaking. _She _is_ prettier when she's thinking about something_, he mused.

As soon as she stepped foot into the carriage, something about her relationship with the blonde Slytherin changed. They were still the same people, en route to the same destination, with the same thoughts and feelings, but Hermione was having trouble justifying her childish attempt to ignore the very real offer of something that her once-enemy was offering her. Whether that _something _would be as intense as a full physical relationship, or as simple as an acknowledgement of his attempt, she hadn't a So instead of worrying about the connotations of Draco's distance to her, she respected and appreciated his measured distance. Not that she'd ever tell him that. Still, she could feel the way his eyes fixed on her, and found it rather difficult not to squirm in discomfort; at the same time, the very small, very suppressed feminine part of her preened under the male's obvious attention. She very quickly quashed that part before it could do any damage.

Halfway into the carriage ride, she had shocked herself by attempting conversation. Even more shocking was the attempt Malfoy himself had made at the very same time, and after a brief but intense (and wildly important, Hermione thought oddly) argument about chivalry and women's lib, Hermione found herself pondering a question she herself hadn't even considered. What _was_ the first thing she wanted to as her new parents? (_Real parents!_ She scolded herself greatly. They deserved that much at least.) There were so many things she wanted to know about their life; where they worked, what they new about the wizarding world, why they got rid of her…

"I'd ask them if they're death eaters," she said calmly, quietly, previously downcast eyes darting up to gaze through lowered lashes to see his expression. It was solid in its comfortable arrogance, and she quickly realized her mistake. Normally so crystal clear to her, there was no way she'd be able to read Malfoy's emotions on this particular subject. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" She whispered vehemently, huffing indignantly when he shook his head with a small smile. She turned her head to the small window of the buggy, watching as the trees rushed by, wondering what her mates were up to at this very moment. She pictured Harry leaning against the wall of the small carriage, arm slung comfortably across Ginny's shoulders, laughing at Ron, who was undoubtedly saying something hilarious and rude about her, Hermione.

The remainder of the ride was spent in a depressed silence. After finding an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and stomping her foot in anger when she discovered Draco's insistence at sitting with her here as well, ruining her only hope for privacy enough for one good cry. For the first bit of their two hour long journey to King's Cross, Hermione didn't say a single word, neither had Draco asked for one.

In fact, about 20 minutes into their trek, Hermione noticed little blue and red colored lights floating in the air about Draco's side of the compartment. More intrigued than she wanted to admit, she spent a good five minutes watching them in the reflection of the train window before she asked quietly, "What are those?"

Thrilled with the idea of finally being able to talk with Hermione, Draco smiled. "Oh, this old thing? I play this Muggle game called… basteball with these little colored lights." When the brunette turned to truly face him with an expression ripe with inquisition, he silently thanked his mother for her bedtime games. "My mother taught me when I was little," he explained, letting the little colored lights take their positions in the air one more time, more slowly for the girl watching with pure curiosity. "I wasn't able to sleep very well at that age, so she helped me with this game so I'd have something to do to go to sleep." He conveniently left out that his father and his Dark Arts lessons had been the things keeping him awake at six years old. Watching as Hermione reached up to touch one of the little green lights, he couldn't stop the first smile when it showered her with shiny green and silver sparks, causing a tiny little giggle to escape. No, this holiday may not end up perfect, but with Hermione's glowing smile and the fluttering feeling in his chest, it was already better than the last.

A/N: Just a brief note about the baseball lights; the idea was borrowed from a Nora Roberts book called Heaven and Earth.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

By the end of the train ride, Hermione's thoughts were in turmoil. For a full hour, she had been able to lose herself in small talk; she had paid barely a thought to the disaster that was sure to strike the minute she stepped off the train. But now, with only fifteen precious minutes left until they pulled into the station, she was becoming frantic, and though she was trying to hide her discomfort from Malfoy, she knew how see-through her disguise really was. Busying herself with gathering the outer robes she had shed earlier, she tried fruitlessly to ignore both her nerves and the uncharacteristic slivers of sympathy and concern etched in the brow of her blond companion.

When the train finally screeched to a stop inside Kings Cross, Hermione couldn't help it; she squeaked. It wasn't loud enough to bother anyone in the other compartments, but it was enough to spur Malfoy into action. "Let me help you with your things," he offered quietly, gesturing to the small trunk she stored in the overhead. She wished he wouldn't look at her so intently; when those storm cloud eyes focused on hers, she always found it hard to breathe. Anxious to break his gaze, she nodded, and moved away to give him room to maneuver her trunk safely to the floor. With a graceful half-bow, he opened the door to the compartment and allowed her to precede him out into the narrow corridor. When she came face to face with Pansy Parkinson, she wished he would have let her manage her trunk herself.

"Well well, if it isn't the little Griswald girl," Pansy's smirk reminded her oddly of Malfoy's, and not for the first time, Hermione wondered if all Slytherins were required to take a course in smirking. "Looks like I can't call you a Mudblood bitch anymore, can I?" The Slytherin girl smiled at Hermione's fiery glare, and determined to stomp it out once and for all. "Guess we'll just have to make do with 'pureblood slut', then, won't we?" And then she laughed.

Hermione knew she shouldn't take this from the bint, but for the life of her, couldn't find anything to say. The corridor was now full of people, most of whom were distinctly interested in the tiny confrontation taking place near the back of the car. Their whispers and murmurs were sending pins and needles down her spine, but Pansy was obviously enjoying the attention, and placed one manicured hand on Hermione's shoulder; the brunette brushed it away with contempt. "Don't worry, Griswald. Draco'll be done with you soon enough." Whispering conspiratorially, she leaned in close, "Although I have heard that the son takes after the father, if you want to give him a go too."

Before Hermione could open her mouth to retaliate, a pleasant male voice interceded. "Pans, don't you have someone else to slime all over?" A warm hand fell on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed gently as Blaise stepped beside her, facing off with his fellow Slytherin. "Run along now and collect your cousin before he gets lost." Huffing, Pansy walked away, but not without one final glare at Hermione.

With the key players in the day's entertainment going their separate ways, the crowd that had formed around the last compartment thinned, and finally vanished. "Thank you, Zabini," Hermione said quietly, looking up into the Italians warm, friendly eyes. "I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but for some reason, I just couldn't…"

"Call me Blaise, petal. And that? Performance anxiety." He shrugged good-naturedly, happy to get a smile from the young woman. "Now, where's Malfoy? Shouldn't he have been out here defending your honor?"

"My honor most certainly doesn't need any defense!" Hermione said, coloring her voice with just a bit of humor as she pointed to her compartment. The door was shut. With a quizzical frown, Blaise slid open the ornate door, and joined Hermione in a brief bout of laughter. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and loose-leaf paper, Draco stared grumpily at the trunk with broken latches.

After gently ushering Hermione from the compartment, Draco let the door slide quietly closed, and heaved a sigh. Things had been downright pleasant between them for the majority of the train ride, but he knew that it wouldn't last. She was only a short time away from the greatest tribulation of her life; the transition wasn't going to be easy for her, and he feared that their newborn camaraderie would suffer the fallout. He was trying so hard to help her adjust, wouldn't it be ironic if that effort caused his own agenda to fail?

Shaking his head, he moved to pull the last trunk from the overhead, when he was stopped by the screeching noise of Pansy's laugh. _Shit!_ Had he really let Hermione go out there alone? Just what kind of an idiot was he? And with a mighty tug, he pulled the trunk from its compartment. At the same instant, both fragile latches caught on the metal shelf, loosening them, and sending down a rain of notes and novels atop Draco's head. The trunk dislodged with such force that he fell to the ground. Surprised, he looked around at the mess that he had caused, and looked up just as he heard Blaise's low timbre. Then, the door opened.

Blaise and Hermione stared at him wide-eyed before bursting into laughter. His woman's quiet giggling and his best friend's deep chuckling only made his indignity that much harder to bear, and a flush rose to his pale cheeks. "Oh yes, how funny," he grumbled, and Hermione only laughed harder as he blew a loose lock of hair from over his eyes.

"Here," she offered, and moved to help him gather the books that littered the floor. "Maybe next time, you'll pay a little attention," she scolded lightly. His eyes shot quickly to her face, and he could see a sadness underlying the smile.

"Thank you." He stood, brushed off his robes, and when all the mess was tidied and shoved back into the traitorous trunk, again held the door back so Hermione could exit the compartment. When she was far enough ahead, Draco turned to Blaise. "What happened?"

"Pansy."

"Damn."

"It's ok. I was there, even if you weren't." Draco huffed, causing Blaise to smile. "You need to take better care of your woman, if you want to keep her. She's likely to get herself in trouble."

"I can take care of my woman just fine," the youngest Malfoy replied, pulling the trunks behind him as he exited the train, eyes scanning the station to find Hermione. "You'd better hurry up, else you'll miss your Floo home."

"Miss my… Drake, how can I miss my Floo?" Blaise called, but Draco was already walking away, striding purposefully toward the petite brunette in front of him, who was nervously wringing her hands.

"Heard you had some trouble with Pansy," he mentioned casually as he stopped beside her. She turned to look at him, and quickly lowered her eyes to the concrete floor as if embarrassed.

"Yes… I'm just glad your friend Zabi- er, Blaise was there to help. She took me a little by surprise, I must admit, and if he hadn't stepped in, I might not have deterred her so easily. That _vile_ woman." Draco was shocked (and more than a little impressed) at the venom in her voice.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Draco let go of the trunks, and raised one hand to her cheek, brushing it lightly with his fingertips. Startled, Hermione glanced up at him, and took the smallest step back. Admitting defeat, he let his hand drop to his side. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her, but it was so hard to be close to her and not want to touch her.

"You shouldn't have to be there every time I find a little spot of trouble," she sighed, inwardly disappointed in herself for moving away, even the slightest, from that small bit of affection he offered her. "I should be able to defend myself," she murmured, watching her fellow students reunite with their families. It took everything she had not to scan the station for her own parents; she knew she wouldn't find them there. "Draco?"

Draco was so focused on her, on the way her lips trembled as she watched her classmates, the way her brow furrowed as she tried to keep the sadness from her eyes, he barely heard her when she spoke his name. "Yes?"

"Is it alright that I'm nervous?"

His heart broke for her. "Of course it is." She turned to look at him, and took a step closer. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that very moment, a house elf popped between them.

"Young Master Malfoy, Miss Griswald, you will come with Mugsy? Lola will take your bags," the wrinkly creature implored nervously. Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Draco interceded. "Of course." The little house elf scurried ahead of them, and the Gryffindor turned to the blond with a furious look on her face.

"House elves? You expect me to let HOUSE ELVES wait on me?" She demanded, shaking with conviction. "How dare you presume to-"

"They're in the service of my father, and I have no control over them," Draco shrugged. "They would have taken our bags anyway. Now come on, before he loses us."

_House elves?_ Hermione thought with disdain. _They expect me to use house elves? Well, lets see how the Malfoys feel when I introduce them to S.P.E.W._ And without another word, she followed the youngest Malfoy across the station, her nerves and fear forgotten in waves of righteous fury.


End file.
